


Curtain's Fall: Casting Call

by omphalos, Wolfling



Series: Of Old Mystics [7]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Epic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Post-Canon, Romance, Schmoop, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:11:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphalos/pseuds/omphalos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfling/pseuds/Wolfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The significant people gather for the beginning of the end, and the most is made of the quiet before the hurricane...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Of Old Mystics was originally published in regular instalments between May 2003 - March 2005. The story began some months after the end of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, season 7. Curtain's Fall is the fifth and final volume of the epic saga, and it's so long we split it into five unequal sections. This is part one, Casting Call.

"Is there anyone living around here who isn't either at least tinged with blue in their blood or loaded with crass new money?" Ethan was looking around the country road they were driving down; the houses on either side were large with substantial gardens and expensive cars double-parked in the driveways.

"The houses aren't that huge," Megan said from the back.

"This is England, dear, and one of the most expensive areas of the Home Counties at that. That five-bedder there," Ethan gestured out of the window at a typical house for this road, "is the equivalent of a not-so-small mansion in the States."

It was not long past a rather dreary sunrise, although the sky seemed to be brightening a little now. Rupert was driving because Ethan's hands hurt too much. Well, that and the fact Ethan really didn't want to be behind the driving wheel currently. Rupert was the captain of the boat as Ethan had declared just a few hours ago during their scrying. So very much had happened since.

"We never worried about starving, that much is true," Rupert put into the conversation. "But we aren't exactly related to royalty." He paused. "Not for a number of centuries at least, and that was a suspect connection at best."

Ethan gave his husband a hard look.

God, he was tired. It had been a night of intense magical activity and stress. Leaving 17, Mountbatten had been strangely unsettling. Not just because of the haste in which they'd had to vacate; that would surely unsettle anyone, but because the house had been home to some of the best times of Ethan's life.

He hadn't had a permanent home for so long –his prison cell most assuredly did not count– and he'd grown rather more fond of their little terraced townhouse than he'd expected. Before finally mooching out of the door, Ethan had walked around the place one last time, in case anything vital had been forgotten. He'd paused by the bedroom window, playing his fingers around the hole in the curtains they now would never replace.

They were good memories he'd left there, and Ethan didn't yet have enough of those that he could easily say goodbye to any of them.

Bags, boxes and cases filled the Rover's boot to brimming, and the boot of Ian's smaller car as well; he and Dawn were following in convoy. The dogs were sharing the back seat of the Rover with Megan and yet more bags, and being very good, all things considered.

So here they all were, nearly there now, nearly at the 'Giles Estate', and Ethan didn't really know what he thought about that.

"My hands hurt," he grumbled. "Must be all the common as muck red blood in my veins."

Rupert moved his hand from the gearstick to cover Ethan's, sending a tiny surge of magic through his fingers, which immediately eased the pain. "No matter your lineage, one thing you've never been and never will be is 'common'."

The words helped as much as the touch, and Ethan smiled softly at Rupert. "So, Cousin Matthew," he began leadingly.

"What do you want to know?" Rupert answered willingly enough.

"Well, to start with, does he know you're married now?"

"I don't believe so, no." Rupert's voice was suspiciously bland.

Ethan frowned. "Rupert, if he's a raving homophobe, I hope you don't expect me to behave."

"Kinda with Ethan on this one," Megan said worriedly from the back.

"Relax," Rupert told them both. "Matthew is far too easygoing to be a raving anything."

"So what aren't you telling me?" Ethan knew there was something.

"Nothing," Rupert insisted. "It's just that he's not very used to the... outrageous."

"I'm flabbergasted," Ethan declared, pretending to look over his clothing. "Megan, do you see the sequins? They're clearly here somewhere. The feathers too." He pulled down the passenger's seat visor and looked in the mirror. "Oh, it looks like all my glitter has fallen off somewhere."

Rupert just waited until Ethan stopped then asked wearily, "Are you through?"

"Truly, dearheart, am I that outrageous?" Rupert didn't answer, just glanced over with a raised eyebrow. Ethan frowned and looked at his hands. In the past, yes, in their youth, then Ethan had been liable to cause outrage. But now? He dressed in a stylish but subdued fashion; there was no make-up, no over-the-top attention-seeking behaviour... "Megan? Am I outrageous?" he asked a little pathetically.

"Pretty much, yeah," Megan said, reluctantly. "Sorry."

"Oh," he said quietly and stared out of the windscreen ahead.

"But it's a good outrageous," Megan hastened to assure him.

He thought about asking how, and in what way, but decided he wouldn't want to hear the answers. "So staid old Matthew of the Manor won't like me then?"

"I never said that," Rupert said immediately. "I'm sure he'll like you well enough once he gets to know you." He hit the indicator to turn left.

Ethan looked at where they were heading and saw a long tree-lined driveway by a gatehouse and a sign saying 'Buckham Hall - Private'. "Hall? Just how many acres are we talking about, husband, dear?"

"Oh, about twenty or so," Rupert replied, his entire manner casual.

"It has a name and everything?" Megan asked, sounding impressed. "That's so cool."

"Are you aware that your accent's getting posher for every foot or so we drive down this private avenue?" Ethan asked Rupert waspishly.

He got an exasperated look as a reward. "I'm talking the way I always talk."

"Of course you are," Ethan replied agreeably. "So what else can we expect here?"

"Do you have horses?" Megan asked, leaning forward. Ethan turned and saw her eyes bright with excitement.

Rupert replied, "Matthew does keep a small stable, yes."

"Easier to flog the peasants from horseback," Ethan added helpfully.

They were coming to the end of the driveway and entering into a wide gravel forecourt in front of the house. It wasn't as big as Ethan had been letting himself imagine; it was far from being the sort of grand country house that the National Trust would love to get their fingers on, but it wasn't exactly small either. There was a main house with two slightly run down looking wings, and several out buildings, all constructed from the deep red brick native to the area.

Ethan sighed. "So this is what homesickness feels like. I've often wondered."

Rupert pulled the car to a stop in front of the house and reached over for Ethan's hand. "All the important things are here," he said. "And I'm not talking about the horses."

There was a crunch of gravel as Ian's Renault pulled in beside them. Ethan looked at Rupert and offered him a crooked smile. "This will be good for the dogs, I imagine. Unless Squire Matthew keeps a kennel of puppy-eating pitbulls anyway."

"No pitbulls, I promise," Rupert replied, returning the smile and squeezing Ethan's hand.

Knowing they were being talked about, and no doubt impatient to get out and run around, their two puppies began to whine and scrabble in the back. "Let them out, Megan," Ethan said. "But behave yourselves, you two, and come when you're called."

Megan opened the door and immediately both dogs took off, barking happily as they ran across the lawn. Rupert opened his own door to get out. "Ready?"

Ethan shrugged. "As I'll ever be," he said, but he heard the unpleasant tone in his own voice and modified it when he added, "I imagine you have good storms here."

"Not quite as good as Devon, but the weather can make you sit up and take notice, yes." Rupert pulled Ethan's hand to his lips to drop a kiss in the unbandaged portion of his palm – free from wounds due to the way he'd been holding his beloved mirror when it had shattered. Then Rupert let go and stepped out of the car.

Ethan sat still for another few moments, studying the house Rupert had grown up in. Rupert might not be royalty, but he was certainly landed gentry, and it was a good thing for Ethan that so few of the Gileses were still around as Rupert had definitely married beneath him. Feeling like the hapless heroine of some torrid regency romance, Ethan opened the door and got out into the crisp winter air.

Dawn and Ian walked over from the other car and joined them, Dawn looking at the house with the same impressed look that Megan was wearing. Ian just seemed amused. "A fancy den you've found for yourself, young fox," he said to Ethan as he joined him.

"It's as much my den as it is your rookery... or whatever it is crows have," Ethan said, rejecting the idea. He looked at the house with his pattern sense and sighed. It might as well have been built with tradition and history than with red brick... although there was something of the unorthodox about it too: the odd turreted chimneys, the general asymmetry of the place. That gave him some hope.

Turning to Ian, he asked quietly, "You see as I see, yes?"

Ian raised an eyebrow. "My vision lies in the same direction, yes."

Ethan watched Rupert stride across to the front door. Clearly, they were meant to wait where they were. "The bond between Rupert and I is a lot stronger now; is it strong enough?"

His mentor sighed and for a brief moment looked every bit as old as he probably was. "I can't answer that. No one can. Only time will tell."

The front door opened, and Rupert spoke to someone inside. Ethan said even more quietly, "Ian, are you going to tell me what the matter is? Because I know there's something. Beyond the obvious, that is."

Ian gave him a crooked smile and clasped his shoulder. "We all have our ghosts to deal with. No matter how prepared you are, they still can knock you about a bit. Although I've become very good at keeping them at bay."

"So that's a no then," Ethan said drily. Rupert had disappeared inside the house. The two girls were playing with the dogs and taking in the scenery.

"You have enough on your plate without adding my problems to it."

Ethan snorted. "I'm not going to let you get away with that, you know." But Rupert was coming back now, another man striding beside him. "Although I might let it drop for a little while."

As they drew closer, Ethan could see a decided family resemblance between the stranger and Rupert. The man, presumably Matthew, seemed in his thirties. He had coarse brown hair and a slightly reddened face that suggested either an outdoor life or too much booze; maybe both. He was wearing typical country lordling gear; Francesca would probably have loved him on sight: moleskin shooting jacket, tweed breeks, checked cap, the whole caboodle. He was laughing with Rupert about something, and they were heading over to where Ethan and Ian were standing. Ethan folded his arms and waited for the inevitable introductions to take place.

"This is my cousin Matthew," Rupert said. "Matthew, this is Ian Woodson and my... partner. Ethan Rayne."

"Partners in crime, eh? Nice to meet you." Matthew held out a large hand to Ethan. "This is a bit of a to-do, isn't it?"

"Quite," Ethan said tactfully, but he couldn't help a significant look at Rupert before taking Matthew's hand and shaking it. "Thank you for letting us take refuge here."

"I'm not sure you fully grasped what I meant when I said 'partner'," Rupert told his cousin, reaching for Ethan's hand. Ethan moved closer to Rupert, squeezing his hand appreciatively.

Matthew blinked at them both. "Well, there's a turn up for the books." He laughed as if someone had said something very funny. "I guess it's up to me to sire the future generations then."

"Indeed," Rupert agreed. "I've enough on my plate with the Slayers and the dogs anyway."

Matthew patted Rupert on the back heartily. "Good show. You keep up the family heritage, and I'll do my best for the genes. You lot going to come inside then? I've got Mrs B making a slap up breakfast worthy of an Ivory Merchant film." He winked at Ethan, of all people. "Got to keep up the illusion, you know." He turned his back and started striding back to the house. "Come along, one and all," he called. "You too, girls. Bring the hounds."

Ethan stared at Rupert. " _That_ is the man who is going to find me over-the-top?"

Rupert was staring after his cousin bemusedly. "It seems I'm not the only Giles who's loosened up these past few years."

Megan came over. "Would you like me to work on getting the bags inside?"

"They can wait until after breakfast, sweetheart," Ethan told her, putting his hand on her back. "Let's go inside and see what the sideboard has to offer."

"Yes," Ian agreed, rubbing his hands together. "Never turn down a meal – a rule to live by."

"Eyes and entrails, Ian?" Ethan asked, grinning, as they walked to the door. For some reason he was suddenly feeling a lot happier.

"Only if you plan on chasing down a plump rabbit or two."

"Even then my feast sounds preferable to yours." Ethan sniggered. As his eyes met Ian's in mock-confrontation, he frowned. They both did, although Ethan, at least, wasn't sure why. They looked intently at each other for a few seconds until Ethan felt Rupert tug at his hand. Then they all went inside, shutting the door behind them.

***

"So this is where that sweet little blond boy slept his nights, is it?" Ethan asked, standing in the centre of the bedroom and turning slowly.

"It was," Giles confirmed as he sat down on the edge of the bed, watching Ethan look around. It felt... surreal to be back here now, of all times, and with Ethan, of all people. "Decorated a bit differently back then, of course."

The large rectangular room had once been divided in two by a partitioning wall, but the ceiling high doors had now been folded back, opening the two areas, once his bedroom and study, into one large space. Sometime since Giles' last visit here, Matthew seemed to have decided to move one of the huge canopied beds from the guest wing into here, probably because the lesser used parts of the house were becoming a little dilapidated.

There were still a few signs of his childhood left however. The dark wooden shelving and cupboards contained an odd mixture of his old books and toys, and adult fiction, presumably read once by Matthew and then discarded here. The window seat was still here, of course, cushioned with the same padded cloth, complete with ancient ink stains. It made Giles smile to see it. Many a time he had sat there, staring out into the branches of the old crab apple tree outside, composing essays or simply reading.

Predictably, Ethan was staring at the bed. "That is where you slept? Did they have to send in search parties?"

Giles chuckled. "This bed, actually, is a new addition. I had something a bit more modest as a boy." He smiled at Ethan. "This will be far more comfortable for sharing." Not to mention it would be less discomfiting to do what he and Ethan usually did in a bed if it wasn't the bed within which he used to wear footie pyjamas.

Ethan investigated the heavy tan curtains hanging from the canopy frame. "A touch medieval, no? Does it come with a chamber pot?" Then his face seemed to light up. "Or chains?"

"Five minutes for you to make a suggestive comment," Giles teased, making a show of checking his watch.

"That long? I must be out of sorts." Ethan prowled around and put his hands on Giles' shoulders. "Shall we unpack?" Ethan asked the question like a seduction.

"Unpack and settle in, yes," Giles replied, thinking that would help both of them regain their equilibrium.

"Okay, I'll unpack," Ethan said, his hands going to Giles' buttons. "Then you can settle in."

Giles chuckled and covered Ethan's hands with his own, stilling his actions. "That's rather getting to the point a bit quickly, isn't it?"

Ethan pouted. "No better way I know of to make me feel at home in a place... but all right, if you want to draw it out, we could unpack the luggage in the nude."

"Or you could come sit with me for a few minutes," Giles said, standing and heading for the window seat and pulling Ethan with him.

Sitting in the sunlight together, Giles could see how tired Ethan looked, and he imagined he appeared much the same himself. It had been a strenuous twenty-four hours. Ethan sat still and looked at his hands, picking at the bandaging, which was looking decidedly grubby by now. "I just wanted to make the bed, the room, feel like ours," he admitted. "That's all."

Giles leant back against the side of the window alcove, pulling Ethan around and against him. He rested his chin on Ethan's shoulder and spoke directly into his ear. "We will. We are."

Ethan leant back against Giles. "Not that it's not nice here, it's just..."

"It's not our house." Giles turned his head enough to press a kiss against Ethan's skin. "I know."

"It's not just that either." Ethan sighed. "It feels a smidgen like the Council here. So much tradition and order... it's in the woodwork."

"You might want to take a closer look at the woodwork," Giles said, pointing out where he had carved his name when he was nine. "More than just tradition and order there."

Ethan stroked his fingers over the carving. "You must have been very lonely," he said thoughtfully.

"Sometimes," Giles acknowledged, thinking back to the boy he used to be. "More so after I was informed of my destiny."

"When you went and hid in the attic." Ethan was remembering one of their shared dreams.

"Yes," Giles said with a smile. That dream took on additional significance for him now, the memory of it melding with his childhood memories and somehow adding Ethan's presence to them.

"Must be nice," Ethan mused, "having a place that feels like... like roots." He didn't sound particularly self-pitying, more curious really.

Giles considered that statement and how it matched up to his feelings before answering. "It's been a very long time since this felt like home, but there's something to be said about having a sense of family history all around you growing up." He smiled wryly. "Of course that made familial responsibilities loom even larger."

Ethan nodded then said, "You're my roots. I suppose that makes you my responsibility too then."

"Am I now?" That knowledge was still new and unused to, but there was a comfort to it that Giles thought he could grow accustomed to.

Turning in Giles' arms, Ethan smiled. "How can that possibly be a surprise to you?"

Giles gave a half-shrug, reaching up to caress Ethan's face. "It's not so much of a surprise as it is a... novelty, but it's a good one."

Ethan played his fingers over Giles' chest, a slightly evil smile quirking his lips. "So I'm not too outrageous for you then?"

"Your outrageousness has rather grown on me," Giles admitted with a small smile.

"One of these days, I'll really act outrageously, and then you'll all be able to see how grievously you've misjudged me."

"More outrageous than flying a car over the Thames?"

"Ah, but that was then. I don't do that sort of thing anymore. And anyway, you were behind the wheel, you know." Ethan laughed. "You and Megan seem to believe my behaviour still scandalous now, when I was of the impression myself that I was immersed in the depths of conventionality." Giles couldn't hold back a snort of disbelief at that. Frowning, Ethan shook his head. "Clearly I sleepwalk or something, and this supposed outré behaviour takes place then."

"Ethan, you've been known to take showers with your dog."

Ethan hesitated, but then insisted, "Mildly eccentric, if that."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Giles asked with a teasing smile.

"You're not attracted to dull people," Ethan pointed out; it was true enough. "You like me to push at your boundaries."

And that was true as well. "You help keep me from getting too stuffy," he agreed.

"So therefore," Ethan started, as if coming to some great Holmesian deduction, "I have a responsibility to be outrageous. Right, where's that black leather dress..."

Giles chuckled and pulled Ethan tighter against him for a kiss. "I really do love you, you know," he murmured, knowing his affection for Ethan, outrageousness and all, had to be visible in his expression.

***

"So, Head of the Council now, Rupert?" Matthew asked over the backs of Shadowlight Ramses III and Artemis Windplover-Songstar... otherwise known as Shadow the old blue roan stallion and Artie, a young bay filly. Both of them were good solid hunters judging by their build.

"Yes, well, it seemed like a good idea at the time." Giles replied wryly. He ran his curry brush over Shadow's back as he spoke; he hadn't minded living in the city, be it London or Sunnydale, but he had missed having horses. There was something almost meditative about grooming the animals that had drawn Giles even as a young boy.

"Your father would have been pleased, I'm sure. Not about the tragedy that led to your new position, of course, but that you've risen to the occasion. Now–" Matthew rested his arms on Artie's back and looked seriously over at Giles. "You're welcome, of course, to stay as long as you like; it's your place as much as mine, after all. But tell me, what should I expect? What should I know about whatever has caused your retreat here and the rather odd collection of people that you've brought along with you?"

It was a testament into how odd his life had become during the last decade, Giles mused, that he considered the people he'd arrived with fairly normal. Still, he wasn't so far gone that he couldn't see how things could appear to others. Luckily, Matthew at least understood the basics.

"It all starts, as most of these things do, with a prophecy."

"And it shall come to pass that there shall be seen in the sky a bright light?" Matthew chuckled dryly as he began to tease Artie's mane. "A comet on collision course?"

"There's no comet," Giles assured his cousin. "At least none that they've told me about. This does deal with some very primal forces however. Chaos."

Matthew's expression didn't seem enlightened. "You say that as if it comes ready-loaded with a capital letter. Are we talking physics here or something else?"

"Magic. Which, I suppose, is related to physics if you look at it the right way. It's just another way of approaching and performing spells, different from how we were taught. But as with every aspect of magic, there's a dark side, and it's Dark Chaos that we're dealing with here."

"Ah. Magic. Always was somewhat of a dunce in that area. So the minions of dark Chaos are after you?"

Giles nodded. "Quite doggedly, actually. They clipped me a couple of months back, did some nasty damage to my leg."

Matthew looked up, frowning. "The wards will need seeing to. Can't do them myself. Uncle Toby used to come over every spring and see to it, like the fine old chap he was, but since he passed on, well, like a lot of this place, they must have gone to seed somewhat. Things aren't how they were in your parents' days, I'm afraid." He pushed his fingers through his thick brown hair and smiled ruefully at Giles.

"Not much is. I remember the spells used; between Ethan and I, we should be able to bring them back up to full strength." The wards weren't in as poor condition as Matthew thought; Giles had felt their reassuring presence from the moment they'd turned down the driveway. Still, it certainly would be prudent to make sure they were at full power.

"What else do I need to know?" Matthew asked, putting the brush back on the shelf and putting a quilted blanket over Artie.

"Do you remember Francesca Travers?"

"I should say so. She was in my year at the Academy, you know. Asked her out once. Never made that mistake again. Chewed boys' balls for breakfast, that one." Matthew walked round to stand by Giles, patting Gwydion's head as he passed. "She causing trouble up in London?"

"Oh, she's gone beyond just causing trouble," Giles said, moving over to put his own brush away. "She's allied with our dark Chaos adversaries, and she's stealing Slayers."

Matthew stared. "Erm...?"

"We've been going to recruit newly discovered Slayers only to find that they've already been taken, by someone claiming to be the Head of the Council." Giles scowled. "It almost makes me wish I followed her father's policies."

"Must be strange," Matthew said thoughtfully, "there being so many now. What's she doing with the gals? Is she definitely aligned with this Chaos threat? Her father was a bit of a hardliner, but I can't imagine he'd support such an action."

"He wouldn't. Quentin and I rarely saw eye to eye, but there were lines he knew not to cross. His daughter, however... Ethan and I did a scrying to try and track Francesca; it led directly to a Chaos infestation." Was that really only the night before? So much had happened in the intervening time that it already felt like old knowledge.

Matthew grimaced. "Ah, Rupert, old man. This is all beyond me. Just tell me what you need me to do, and I'll see that it gets done. Not sure what else I can offer, but you know I'm pulling for your team. All I ask is you don't keep me in the dark about the dangers my staff may be facing, so that I can let them go, if necessary. Animals too."

Giles ran a hand down Shadow's neck. "We won't put any innocents in harm's way, Matthew, I promise. If it comes to that, we'll leave. But I assure you, I do believe that this place is as safe as any can be in England right now. And when Ethan and I finish re-energising the wards, it'll be even safer."

Nodding, Matthew reached out and patted his shoulder. "I trust you," he said simply. "Now," he continued, as he headed to the tubs of feed, "seems I have congratulations to offer."

"Thank you," Giles said with a genuine smile. He glanced down at his hands and the ring he wore. "It's been a very long time coming."

After filling a large bucket with what looked like an oat-based feed, Matthew came back to the two horses they'd been working on. "Won't say I wasn't surprised, but live and let live has always been my motto, and he seems a decent chap. Good sense of humour. Clever. Must be good not to be alone." While there was nothing whatsoever of self-pity in Matthew's tone, Giles couldn't help but wonder if the man was lonely himself. It was a large house and grounds to share only with his elderly housekeeper and groundsman.

"I was as surprised as anyone, I think," Giles said, thinking back to when he first began to believe that Ethan would want to stay with him this time, when a hope he'd thought long dead had sparked back to life again. "Ethan and I... it took us far more years than I'd like to admit to come to an accord."

There was a pause in the conversation as Matthew scooped the feed into bags and fitted the straps over horses' heads, talking to them in a low rumble as he did so. Then as he hung new bales of hay from the wall, he asked, "And the others? Anything I should know about them? Gather there's more to come as well."

"Ian's from the coven in Devon; he's more than able to hold his own. He also has the common Coven habit of being frustratingly cryptic. Megan's a sweet girl who's really beginning to come into her own as a Slayer. Dawn..." Giles paused, wondering how much he should reveal about Dawn's origins. He was still reluctant to spread the information that Dawn was the Key. "Dawn's the younger sister of my original Slayer, Buffy Summers. She's been at the frontlines of several apocalypses and has a great deal of poise for someone her age. She seems to have something to do with the prophecy we're dealing with as well."

"Quite a motley band of heroes," Matthew remarked with a smile. "I've asked Mrs B to get a couple of the village girls in to help with the household arrangements. I, um..." He paused, looking uncomfortable. "This by any chance an 'official' Council retreat here?"

"It's not officially official; the whole point is to disappear under the radar as it were." Giles then answered the question that Matthew hadn't, quite, asked. "You can submit any expenses to my assistant Pamela; she should be arriving tomorrow. She'll make sure they're all taken care of."

Matthew's grin was unabashedly grateful. "Not that I wouldn't push the boat out without any extra funding, you understand. It's just that the boat is rather old and prone to woodworm as is."

"I'll be happy to provide the necessary materials for any repairs needed," Giles replied with a smile.

"Decent of you, Rupert." Matthew moved down the stables to feed the remaining horses. "Fancy a hack across the estate tomorrow morning? Your partner too, of course. We can take a look at the wards and take in the lay of the land. You can ride Shadow if you like. Still plenty of life in the old boy, and he needs a practised hand."

"The same could be said about Ethan." Some mischievous impulse made the words slip out before Giles could stop them.

Matthew widened his eyes at Giles over the back of a black gelding; then he laughed. "I'll leave the Ethan-handling to the expert then, shall I?"

***

Ethan trotted across the field after Ian. He'd seen the older man slip away while the others were greeting Xander and Kat, and he decided to accompany him, welcome or not. "Heading somewhere to watch the sunset?" he asked as he caught up.

Ian glanced sideways at him, and for a moment, Ethan wondered if he was even going to answer, but then, finally, he sighed and said, "Something of the sort. I suppose you're tagging along?"

"Looks that way," Ethan agreed amiably. "You've been alone too long."

"That's what happens when there's no one around," Ian replied with a shrug.

Ethan found it so very easy to imagine Ian's pain that he ached for his mentor. "I know I'm not much, but you're not alone currently. We could talk."

Ian gave him a quick but genuine smile. "You're a great deal more than not much. I'd say you're very much indeed."

Ethan had no idea what to say to that, unsure whether it was a compliment or a simple statement of fact based on his significance in the prophecy. He squeezed Ian's shoulder, and they walked in silence for a little way until they entered a wooded area. "Ah, deja vu. I wonder how many ant bites I'll get this time."

Ian snorted. "I'd be gobsmacked if you get even one. You've come a long way, my boy."

"I certainly couldn't have done it without you." Ethan saw an opportunity and took it. "So are you going to let me repay a little of what I owe you?"

Ian stopped and turned to look at him. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a persistent bugger?"

"Rupert has," Ethan answered easily. "Frequently. So you might as well spit it out now as not, eh? I know something's wrong. Something personal, above and beyond this war we find ourselves fighting."

There was silence for a long moment, and then Ian said softly, "I find myself thinking of old casualties."

"Derek," Ethan breathed, hardly saying the name aloud at all. "Is it Rupert and I reminding you of what you could have had?"

"What?" Ian sounded startled. He shook his head. "No, it's not that at all. I don't begrudge you your Rupert. On the contrary, it is satisfying to see someone get it right."

It was cold in the shade of the bare-branched trees, damp too. Ethan wrapped his arms around himself and prompted, "Then...?"

Ian stopped and leant against a trunk of a nearby beech, looking in Ethan's direction but not meeting his eyes. "I've had reason to be revisiting the worst day of my life."

Taking the risk of contact, as much because not doing so was agony than any other reason, Ethan moved close to Ian and placed a hand on his arm. "Tell me?" he asked as gently as he knew how.

Ian let out a sigh and closed his eyes, his head falling back against the bark behind him. "What went after Dawn –he calls himself Doc– that's what killed Derek."

"Oh." Bugger. "Oh, Ian. Christ, you must feel murderous." Ethan squeezed Ian's arm and only resisted trying to draw him into a hug by an effort of will.

"That would be one word for it, yes." Ian's smile was tight.

There was nothing Ethan could say or offer which could help with Ian's pain, so instead he attempted a more practical discussion. "Rupert told me a little about this 'Doc' in the car. Very little really as they never discovered much. Doc's interest in Dawn seems to have continued."

"Yes, Dawn spoke of their previous meeting. It doesn't surprise me at all that he would have been involved in such a thing, although more for the Chaos that the breakdown of the dimensional barriers would have caused than any true allegiance to the Hellgod."

"Was he part of your... group?"

"Oh no." Ian's features twisted in distaste. "There wasn't really a group. Just me and Derek against the world."

Ethan felt rather like he was walking a tightrope blindfolded, and that there was only one correct place to tread next, and he couldn't see it. He supposed conversations must have patterns too, but if they did, he wasn't clever enough to see them. "Tell me about Derek?" he said after the pause had become painfully long.

Ian's eyes became distant and a touch of a melancholy smile hovered on his lips. "His natural inclination was to be serious. All the time. I was the wild one, dragging him into all sorts of misadventures. He'd protest, but usually I could talk him into whatever it was." His gaze grew even more distant and full of memories. "He had the most beautiful smile. I used to go out of my way, do anything I had to, to make him smile. Cliché as it may sound, it lit up his entire face."

Ethan knew smiles like that. "How old were you both?"

"Old enough to know better, young enough that that only made it all more exciting."

"To know better about what?" Ethan prompted in a quiet voice. The sounds of the winter forest around them –the cracks and crunches, the drips, and the odd birdcall– seemed to be getting louder, adding significance somehow to the moment.

"To do all sorts of naughty, illegal and immoral things." Ian's smile took on a hint of wickedness, and Ethan caught a glimpse of the boy that Ian must once have been. It was like looking into a mirror.

Ethan knew he should ask more about this Doc, who undoubtedly now threatened all of them, but he didn't want to. He wanted instead to see more of that smile on Ian's face. He moved his hand from Ian's shoulder and put it flat on the tree beside Ian, leaning on it. "What sort of things did you get up to then?"

"Nothing that would shock you, I suspect: fighting, petty pilfering, magic, drugs, sex. Lots of sex, in all kinds of risky places. It became rather a game, you see."

"A game it's rather hard for some of us to stop playing," Ethan murmured. He sighed and forced himself to ask, "Are you up to talking about what happened?" Just like that, the smile disappeared from Ian's face, his expression becoming almost masklike. Ethan grimaced and turned away. With a sigh, he leant his back against the tree beside Ian. "I'm sorry. I was just... ah, I'm sorry."

Ian sighed heavily and reached over to lay a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "I know. I know why you're asking, my boy, but I just... can't." His voice took on a harder edge. "But I promise you, you won't have to worry about Doc. I'll take care of him."

"I'd much rather you asked for help when and if you need it."

Ian smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "I appreciate the concern," he said quietly, before launching suddenly into an animated and extravagant tone. "Have I ever told you about the time Derek and I visited the Tower of London?"

Responding with a grateful grin, Ethan turned to face him again, "You've told me almost nothing, old crow, and I'd love to hear it all."

***

It was dark and very cold by the time Ethan returned to the house, carrying a pile of Ian's clothing. His mentor had decided he wanted to flap around the estate for a while before bed. Ethan took the clothes to Ian's room and left them there, opening the window wide enough for a crow to get inside.

Then he followed his sense of Rupert, finding him with the others in a large comfortable living room with a roaring fire. It looked very homely and welcoming, but for some reason Ethan didn't want to go in. He leant against the wall of the corridor and sent, _'It's been a very long twenty-four hours, dearheart.'_

He saw Rupert glance unerringly toward the doorway and then watched him stand up and make his excuses to the others before walking out to join Ethan. The two dogs followed at Rupert's heels.

Smiling wearily, Ethan held out his grubbily bandaged hand. Rupert took it, then tugged lightly, pulling Ethan into a brief hug. "You all right? You feel..."

"Tired. I'm very tired," Ethan murmured, trying to encourage Rupert further away from the open door; he didn't want to be noticed. "And I need you." Rupert looked hard at him for a moment then nodded and began heading down the hall, sliding an arm around Ethan's waist as they walked.

They headed without further consultation upstairs to the third floor and their bedroom. As Rupert closed the door behind them, Ethan went to the bed and sat on the edge, in the gap between the curtains. "I hope I'm not expected to get up before midday tomorrow."

"Matthew's invited us to go riding tomorrow morning, but I'm sure there'll be another chance for that." Rupert opened the curtains further and sat beside him, moving his hands to massage Ethan's shoulders.

"Hmm, that's nice." Ethan closed his eyes, turning into the touch. "Would feel even nicer without clothes."

Rupert chuckled. "Yes, it probably would."

Opening his lids again, Ethan looked at the two dogs. They were investigating the bedroom, having not been here before. Gwydion quickly found where Rupert had put his basket and flopped down into it, but Skunk kept hunting for dust bunnies. "I'm assuming they've been fed and walked as, if I have to leave this room again before morning, I won't be a happy man."

"They've already charmed our housekeeper and have been quite royally fed as a result. I think she misses Matthew's old Labrador, who died recently apparently. The walking has been taken care of as well. Barring any new catastrophes, we won't have to move from here until morning."

"We even have our pokey en-suite bathroom. Ah, heaven." Ethan sighed, smiling, and collapsed back on the heavy bedspread, but his smile faded as he looked up at Rupert. "We're so sodding lucky, Ripper. For every moment that we have like this."

"Yes, we are," Rupert replied seriously, stretching out beside him, one hand coming to rest over Ethan's heart. "What's bothering you, love?"

"I've been talking to Ian."

"Ah."

Ethan turned his head to look at Rupert. "It was a good conversation; he opened up more than he ever has before. I just... his pain... He could be my twin, Rupert, separated by time somehow. What he had and lost..." It was no good; he couldn't talk about it any more easily than Ian could.

Rupert shifted, pulling Ethan against him and wrapping him up in a tight embrace. He didn't say anything, just held Ethan close, letting his presence make unspoken promises. That felt so very good. Ethan let himself just relax into Rupert's arms, finding himself drifting down towards sleep, despite his legs still being half off the bed.

"Ethan?" Rupert's voice roused him before he could drift off entirely.

"Mmm?" He snuggled a little closer.

"This would feel even nicer without clothes and under the blankets."

"Haven't done my teeth," Ethan muttered, making no attempt to move.

"How about we just work on getting undressed and in bed?" Rupert suggested. "You can do your teeth in the morning."

"'kay."

Without opening his eyes, Ethan rolled onto his back and began to lazily undo his buttons. Even without his sense of sight, he could feel Rupert's eyes on him, and that made him a little more aware. He made the movements of his fingers more sensual, languorously pulling his shirt open and stroking over his own chest. He heard Rupert chuckle softly; then Rupert's hands covered his own, just resting against Ethan's as he moved.

So of course, Ethan couldn't resist taking their hands lower, to his waistband, then lower still. Rupert's fingers tightened around his own. "This would feel nicer without clothes as well," Rupert teased.

His eyes still closed, Ethan grinned. "I married a very wise man."

There was some shifting beside him, and then Rupert's lips were pressed softly against his. Somehow the touch of Rupert's lips changed Ethan's mood entirely. He opened his eyes and lifted his arms to encircle Rupert, pulling him close. Ian didn't get to do this with Derek. Ian had had to spend decades alone and lost, not the way Ethan had been after Rupert left, but utterly without hope.

Rupert's thoughts seemed to be paralleling his own because he murmured, "We are so very lucky," as he trailed his mouth down over Ethan's jaw and throat.

"Yes," Ethan agreed emphatically. "Yes. Rupert?"

"Yes, love?"

Ethan cupped Rupert's face and encouraged him to move up far enough for them to look at each other. He stroked his fingers over Rupert's brow and cheekbones, but found he didn't actually have the words to communicate what he was feeling. But they were close enough now that they didn't always need words to communicate; indeed, sometimes words got in the way. A ghost of a smile touched Rupert's mouth, and he leant forward, resting his forehead against Ethan's.

Closing his eyes again, Ethan let himself get lost in Rupert's comforting presence, breathing him in and feeling very much not alone.


	2. Chapter 2

As he had nearly every day as a child, Giles awoke when the sun fell across the bed. He lay there blinking for the moment it took memory to catch up and remind him why he was here. The warm weight pressing against his side helped with that a great deal.

Turning his head, Giles looked down at Ethan, who was still fast asleep, and Giles almost didn't have the heart to wake him. As he watched, Ethan's face twitched slightly as if dreaming. Was that a small smile? He hoped so; there had been far too many bad dreams for both of them of late. Unable to resist, Giles leant over to kiss Ethan gently.

Ethan made a small noise. After a short pause, his lips moved lazily under Giles'. Giles continued the kiss for a long moment, losing himself in the taste and feel of Ethan before finally pulling back. "Good morning."

"M'ning," Ethan mumbled, smiling, and opening his eyes a crack.

"Sleep well?" Giles asked, giving in to temptation and stealing another kiss.

"Ask me when I've finished," Ethan replied, still smiling, his eyes falling shut again.

Giles wasn't about to begrudge Ethan the chance to lie in, but he himself had other commitments. He kissed Ethan again and regretfully began to pull away in preparation to get up.

Ethan whined. Yes, it was definitely a whine and not unlike one the dogs might make. Arms reached up and around Giles, pulling him back down.

"I have to get up, Ethan," Giles said mildly.

"It's the middle of the night."

"Generally the sun isn't out during the middle of the night."

Ethan's eyes opened a slit again. "All right... so where is it you need to be at the crack of dawn? Do they serve breakfast early in the countryside?"

It wasn't exactly the crack of dawn either, but Giles let that comment pass. "Matthew asked us –well, me, at least– to go riding with him this morning. I told you last night, remember?"

"Dangerous, that."

"No, not really. I've been riding since I was a boy."

"So have I," Ethan said, his eyes fully open now and twinkling.

Giles smiled in spite of himself. "Not that kind of riding, love." He paused, smile fading to a thoughtful frown. "Do I even want to know how old you were when...?"

"Probably not. It would be significantly illegal even nowadays." Ethan yawned enthusiastically and stretched. "So what do I wear to go riding?"

Surprised, Giles raised an eyebrow. "You want to come?"

Ethan raised his eyebrow in turn. "I thought we had to get up and ride horses."

"We?" Giles repeated, doing his best not to let Ethan change the subject. "You want to go riding? Horses?"

"You said I was invited." Ethan wriggled up in the bed and sat up against the headboard.

"You are," Giles assured him, sitting up himself and reaching for his glasses on the bedside table. "I just... You really want to come along?"

"I've never been on a horse. Could be fun. Am I allowed to make it fly?" Ethan had his best mischievous grin on his face now.

Fervently hoping Ethan wasn't serious, Giles advised in his mildest voice, "Probably best that you don't. You don't want to spook your mount."

"No Pegasus spells then. Shame." Ethan kissed Giles on the temple and then slipped from under the covers, heading for the en-suite bathroom. Skunk was quickly bouncing along beside him, yapping a good morning. "You didn't answer the suitable clothing question, dearheart," Ethan pointed out as he crouched to greet his dog.

"I usually just wear jeans and a jumper," Giles replied, half-distracted by watching Ethan.

"Jeans might be a problem." Ethan bit his lip, looking up at Giles on the bed.

Giles frowned. "You didn't pack any?"

"We didn't have time or space to pack everything, and I don't exactly wear them a lot." Ethan straightened up, scratching his belly absently as he thought. "I have those old brown trousers that are quite a thick twill. Will they do?"

Giles' gaze followed Ethan's hand while he considered the question. "I don't see why not."

As Giles watched, Ethan's hand slid lower, over his cock, where it stroked sensually for a second or two. Then Ethan chuckled and turned, slapping his own arse as he walked into the bathroom.

 _'You are a cock tease,'_ Giles sent as he got up and set about getting ready himself.

"It's my own cock!" Ethan called out, aloud, from the en-suite. Too loud – there were other people in this corridor.

"It's a good thing I've long given up the hope of maintaining any dignity," Giles commented as he walked into the bathroom.

The only answer from Ethan was a screech from behind the shower curtain as the water was turned on. Giles saw Ethan jump back to the far end of the tub. "Do they channel the water here all the way up from the Antarctic?"

Giles did his best to hide his smile. "The water heater was always a bit antiquated. Why do you think I became so good at fire spells?"

"Please?" Ethan asked, his arms wrapped around himself as he shivered dramatically.

Stepping into the tub with Ethan, Giles reached up and laid his hand on the water pipes. " _Calida_ ," he murmured and then moved under the stream of now steaming water.

"Oh, I love you," Ethan said happily, stepping back under the spray.

"Always good to know." Giles turned to pull Ethan into his arms. Moaning happily, Ethan stood close, closing his eyes against the stream of water and tipping his head to the side for a kiss. Giles obliged him, never being able to find it in himself to turn down a kiss from Ethan when it was offered. "Good morning," he repeated with a smile.

"Is so far," Ethan agreed, starting another kiss and wriggling against Giles. Ethan had always loved the feel of hot water and skin together.

"You do realise we can't take too much time showering," Giles pointed out.

Ethan pulled back enough to give him a doubtful look. "Why? Will the horses mutiny if we don't keep to a timetable? Will we get out there to find them marching up and down a picket line holding placards in their nasty teeth?"

"Entertaining as that could be, it's also highly unlikely," Giles replied dryly. "Matthew will be waiting, however."

"Ah, Squire Matthew." Ethan's humorous tone had a slight edge to it. "I suppose you saw the picture in the dining room? It would be hard to miss, being as it takes up half the sodding wall."

"The one of the Hunt? That isn't Matthew's doing; it's been up there since I was a child, probably longer." It was obviously by an artist of some talent, although not anyone whose name Giles had heard of elsewhere; the figures in the painting were so vibrant and alive that it seemed they would leap from canvas any second. Giles could remember sitting and staring at the painting for what had seemed like hours when he had been small.

Ethan was staring at him. "You hunted, didn't you." It wasn't a question.

Giles nodded, not quite meeting Ethan's eyes. "When I was still trying to be the dutiful son."

He felt Ethan's fingers touch his cheek. "So you've been blooded then." It was hard to hear Ethan over the water; for some reason he was talking very quietly. "Were you honoured with the brush perhaps?"

"Actually," Giles began, raising his hand and mirroring Ethan's gesture, "the fox had an uncanny knack of escaping when I went along." That had been one of his first attempts at rebellion, subtle enough that no one had caught on to what he'd done.

Ethan shut his eyes and nodded before resting his forehead against Giles'. "I don't really know why I care so much," he admitted. "I'm hardly one to criticise another's cruelty."

"Too easy for you to identify with the victim?" Giles suggested, sliding a hand around to the back of Ethan's neck.

"Perhaps. Rupert..." Ethan pulled back and looked searchingly at Giles.

"What is it?"

"I want to explore being a fox more while we're here. If it's going to upset you, I can keep away from you during those times."

"No," Giles said firmly. "If you're going to... explore, I want to be there." He didn't try to talk Ethan out of it, despite his own misgivings; he knew those had more to do with his fears than true risk.

There was a quick flash of a grateful grin before Ethan turned and filled his palm with showergel. The bandages were missing from Ethan's hands, Giles noticed. "Don't you ever wonder how you would feel as a badger?" Ethan asked.

Giles shook his head. "No, not really. Shapeshifting's never been something my skills turned toward so..." He shrugged. There was, however, his ever-present curiosity at the back of his mind.

"Things seem very different that close to the ground," Ethan claimed as he washed himself. "What we humans think of as a sense of smell is like, hmm, like old black and white telly with the sound turned down. We walk above the world on our two long legs, perceiving it at best only dimly, and we have the arrogance to claim we understand it. We know nothing. Our knowledge is as a single word within a vast library of books." He grinned at Giles, clearly very pleased with himself about his little speech.

Giles found himself smiling back; Ethan really was engaging when he got like this. "Well, stuck as I am being human, I will just have to do my best with my single word."

"Maybe," Ethan said thoughtfully. "Maybe not." Without explaining that comment any further, he bent his head under the spray of the shower and began to wash his hair.

"Why do I get the feeling I should be worried?" Giles murmured, moving to take over working the shampoo into Ethan's hair.

"I don't know," Ethan said, frowning slightly, his eyes tightly shut. "As I would have hoped you knew by now that I wouldn't do anything to you that you hadn't okayed first and that I wasn't convinced was safe."

Leaning in, Giles dropped a kiss on Ethan's lips. "Old habits," he said by way of explanation. "And not even habits formed mostly around you."

***

"That's not a horse," Ethan said, staring fixedly at his prospective mount. "It's an elephant."

"Champ is rather big," Matthew admitted as he tightened the piebald horse's girth. "But the old boy's as placid as a clover-happy cow. Comes from sound farm horse stock. Best mount I have for someone of your size and limited experience." He patted the horse's back in hearty approval.

"My size?" Ethan asked. Giles could hear an icy edge to his voice.

"You're a bit long of limb for a pony," Giles explained as he checked the tack on his own mount, Shadow, the old stallion he'd groomed the night before.

"How am I meant to get up there?" Ethan asked. "Strangely enough I forgot to bring my ropes and pitons."

Giles kept a straight face, but it was an effort. If there was ever anything that proved Ethan was a child of the city... "You use the stirrup," he explained. "And the saddle. You put your foot in the stirrup and pull yourself up enough to swing your leg over." Giles demonstrated, moving slower than normal. "Like so."

Ethan's face screwed up in exaggerated confusion, and Matthew laughed. "Come round to this side of Champ, Ethan. Always mount from the near side. Now. Hold the reins and put your hand here on his withers. Good." Matthew held the stirrup for Ethan. "Put your smart city shoe in here, push down with that foot and sort of spring up with the other."

Ethan, to his credit, did exactly what he was told, and Giles watched him mount Champ with a surprising amount of grace. Sadly, the smooth movement didn't stop, and as Giles stared in dismay, Ethan slid gracefully off the other side of Champ, disappearing from view, but not, unfortunately perhaps, from hearing.

Ethan didn't swear a great deal, but when he chose to, it tended towards the colourful.

Giles dismounted and moved over to check on Ethan, again doing his best to keep the smile off his face. "Perhaps try it with a bit less spring this time," he advised blandly, holding a hand out to help Ethan up.

Standing, Ethan rubbed at his arse, a sour expression on his face. He seemed in no hurry to try again. "Remind me once more where the enjoyment in this type of activity comes?" He glowered at Champ, who had turned his huge head around in curiosity.

"Generally it starts once you're mounted and underway."

If anything, Ethan's expression became sourer. He walked past Giles and back around the other side of Champ, where he mounted perfectly again, and this time stayed up there. He looked down at the other two men as he gathered the reins in his gloved hands. "Well, come on then. Let's get this done so I can finally have some breakfast."

Matthew passed Ethan the riding hat that had been selected for him, and pouting, Ethan put it on, mumbling something sulky about his hair. After tightening Champ's girth one last time, Matthew gave a quick run through of the basic aspects of controlling a horse. Giles could easily see that Ethan didn't listen to it at all. Matthew then went back to his own steed and mounted.

 _'You don't have to come, you realise,'_ Giles sent as he headed back over to Shadow. Not that he thought Ethan was going to back out now, but he couldn't let all that grumbling pass without some comment.

 _'Don't worry, dearheart,'_ Ethan sent back. _'By the look of this carthorse the two of you will be able to out run me in seconds. I won't be able to spoil your Brideshead Revisited fun.'_

He was determined to be dramatic about this it seemed. Used to Ethan's theatrical personality, Giles just took it in stride with a smile. "We'll go slowly at first until you get used to it," he said aloud. Ethan didn't reply, and Matthew looked between them before giving a little shrug and digging his heels lightly into his bay's flanks.

They set off in a brisk walk, Matthew leading them behind the stables and into the meadows beyond. They walked sedately down towards the small river that ran through the property. "Lovely day," he called over his shoulder. "Can almost feel spring on its way."

"Yes," Giles agreed, although he couldn't totally suppress a shiver at the words. Much as he loved the spring, this year everything was telling him that its return was going to bring more than warmer weather.

Ethan seemed to be managing well enough, although Giles couldn't say that he looked either natural or happy on horseback. It was hard to understand quite why Ethan was so determined to do this. As they reached the lower fields, Matthew turned his horse and asked Ethan, "Fancy trying a bit of a trot now?"

A dry "Tally ho," was Ethan's only reply to that.

Giles sent him an encouraging smile as they slowly moved from a walk into a trot. Matthew suggested helpfully, "Try to rise from saddle in tandem with the motion of your horse."

"That would be hard to avoid, no?" Ethan asked, bouncing uncoordinatedly in his saddle.

"The trick is to move in concert with your horse." Giles smiled mischievously. "Like other activities, it's all a matter of finding the right rhythm."

Ethan gave him a dry, knowing look, but nonetheless seemed to take Giles' comment as a challenge. As Giles watched, Ethan's eyes unfocused; then suddenly his lover was moving smoothly with the trot, a small smile on his face. "Well, we have the first inkling of fun," Ethan announced. "Can we go faster now, or has old Champ here exhausted his repertoire?"

"No, there are a few more tricks we can try, if you're ready." Giles nudged his horse into a canter, knowing Champ would follow suit.

 _'Oh, this is much more like it,'_ Ethan sent, apparently giving up on trying to speak over the pounding hooves and the rush of air past them. Not that that stopped Matthew.

"Well done, there!" he called out. "You're picking it up like a natural. Good seat!"

"Ethan's always been good at picking things up," Giles observed wryly. _'And people as well,'_ he added mentally, _'at least in our distant youth.'_

 _'Is that a challenge?'_ Ethan replied. _'I can still do it, you know.'_

_'But what would you do with them once you've picked them up?'_

_'Leave them distraught and forever longing for what they can never have.'_ A glance at Ethan showed he was grinning hugely.

 _'I don't think I want to share you, even theoretically,'_ Giles sent thoughtfully.

 _'I'm all yours, dear. Don't worry.'_ And with that, Ethan mimed tipping his hat at Giles as Champ suddenly put on an unlikely turn of speed, heading straight down towards the river.

"Bloody hell!" Matthew exclaimed, kicking his mount into following.

Giles followed as well, caught between amusement and worry that Ethan was going to overestimate his abilities and end up breaking his neck.

The huge horse thundered to the narrow river's edge and took off. Time seemed to slow as man and steed in perfect harmony flew gracefully over the water, only to speed up again as Champ's hooves hit the mud on the other side. Skidding, Champ struggled to keep his balance, twisting to one side. Giles watched in dismay as Ethan kept going straight, leaving the saddle and flying off beyond his horse.

Without thought, Giles stood in his stirrups and flung a hand out towards Ethan, using it to direct his magic. "Densa!" he intoned, causing the air to thicken and slow down Ethan's fall sufficiently to ensure nothing was broken beyond his pride.

Matthew's horse jumped to one side of Champ, Matthew dismounting in a single fluid movement before the bay had even really stopped. He disappeared from view behind the two horses just as Giles directed Shadow to jump slightly to the right of the scene. The stallion took the jump easily, finding his footing on the slippery ground as neatly as could be. Giles pulled him to a halt and dismounted, hurrying over to check on Ethan.

Only to find him on his back, covered in mud, and laughing uproariously. Matthew had his hands on his hips and was staring down at Ethan as if he'd never seen anything like him.

Giles looked down at Ethan exasperatedly. _'No, you're not the least bit outrageous,'_ he sent, holding out a hand to help him up. "Didn't do yourself damage, did you?"

"Nothing that wasn't well worth it," Ethan replied with a huge grin as he took Giles' hand in his muddy glove and stood. "I just had a slight miscalculation at the end there. Failed to take into account the mud's patterns. I'll get it right this time." He went to grab Champ's reins.

Giles got there first. "We did have that chat about flying horses, didn't we?"

Glaring indignantly, Ethan asked, "Did you see any wings?"

"There weren't any wings on Deirdre's mini either."

"I was only doing what you told me to do." Ethan made a swipe for the reins.

"And you were doing quite well," Giles agreed, tightening his grip on the leather straps. "But to spare my nerves, if you must jump, do you think you could maybe start off with something a bit less... daunting?"

"Here here," agreed Matthew from behind them.

Ethan pursed his lips and turned to face the other man. "Do you hunt by any chance, Matt?"

Oh lord... Giles braced himself for the reaction if his cousin waxed poetic about the Hunt as was his wont, but Matthew seemed to sense something was up and looked at Giles, as if checking what to say. Giles said carefully. "Ethan's been through a few things in his life that have left him rather fond of the fox."

"So the tactful answer would be 'no' then. Message received." Matthew smiled genially and got back on his horse. "Ready to continue?"

Ethan stared sourly at Giles' cousin, sending, _'I can just see the red jacket, you know,_ ' to Giles as he held his hand out for the reins.

 _'My old jacket is probably still at the back of the closet or up in the attic,'_ Giles pointed out as he finally relinquished Champ's reins to Ethan.

 _'Oh goodie. How about you put it on, I'll change, and we can have some fun chasing me with dogs until I get ripped apart?'_ Ethan was being impossible. He mounted Champ smoothly again, although Giles caught what looked like a wince pass over his face. "I'm heading back to the stables," Ethan announced. "You two can have fun surveying the estate and no doubt locating clutches of innocent animals to happily abuse. Because they enjoy it, you know."

Giles sighed and let him go, knowing there would be no talking to him until he got that out of his system. Turning back to Matthew after Ethan had left, Giles apologised as best he could. "Sorry about that. Ethan's... prone to being difficult at times."

Matthew nodded, apparently undisturbed. "Last few days can't have been easy for either of you. Fancy a bit of a gallop across to that copse?" He nodded towards a clump of trees in the distance.

"Maybe even a bit beyond it," Giles replied. He'd give Shadow a good run; then he'd go track down his impossible lover and do what was needed to soothe ruffled feathers on all sides.


	3. Chapter 3

To Ethan's great relief, Mr Bobbrick, the old Groundsman, was at the stables when he arrived back with Champ. "If I give you all my worldly goods, would you take care of this animal for me?" he asked the man beseechingly.

Bobbrick took hold of Champ's bridle and nodded at Ethan. "Did you have a fall, sir?" he asked politely.

"A fall from grace, you could say. No need to 'sir' me, by the way." Ethan slid gratefully from the saddle, trying to ignore his various aches and pains. He took off his hat, and not seeing anywhere obvious to put it, hung it from a nail protruding from one of the stall posts. "Oh God, if there's no breakfast left, I may have to cook it myself."

"No need for extreme action, sir. My wife will see you're fed all right."

"What a wonderful woman she must be." Ethan wondered if he was meant to tip the man, not that he had any money on him if he was. All this class stuff made him think fondly of America. "Well, um, thanks. Better go and get clean again, I suppose." He offered the man his brightest smile and left the stables, heading around the back of the house.

He met Xander coming out of the kitchen door with a mug of something in his hands. Ethan peered into it when he got close. "Any left in the pot?"

"Yeah, there's plenty of everything still in the kitchen," Xander replied, frowning at him. "Have a spot of mud wrestling before breakfast, did we?" he asked in that strange accent he always assumed when attempting to speak 'Brit'.

"Mud is what happens when you run out of thin air, I discovered." Ethan looked yearningly at the door. "What's Mrs B like? Is she liable to object to a handsome and charming but perhaps a little slimy man in her kitchen? I'm missing that most important first meal of the day."

Xander considered. "She's nice enough, but might get a little cranky if you track mud all over her floors. Tell you what, you go change, and I'll liberate you some breakfast and bring it up to you."

"That's very decent of you, mate." Ethan grinned appreciatively, slipping his dirty shoes from his feet. He opened the kitchen door and made a run for the hall and the stairs, the dogs suddenly appearing at his heels from somewhere on the way. It was only when he entered his and Rupert's room that he realised Xander's generous offer meant they were going to be alone in a bedroom together. Ah well. If Xander wasn't bothered by the idea, then there was really no reason for Ethan to be. Leaving the bedroom door ajar, so Xander could get in, Ethan told the dogs to stay, grabbed some clean clothes, and headed into the bathroom.

A quick wash-up later –made all the quicker by the lack of hot water– and Ethan was coming back out to find a full breakfast laid out on the table and Xander looking around the room with interest.

"Oh, you wonderful man," Ethan said happily, drawing a chair up to the table and lifting the main plate to his lap. "Do sit if you want to."

Xander sank into the chair opposite. "So this is Giles' old room, huh?"

"Apparently. You could fit five of my old bedroom in here." Ethan frowned, hearing the acid in his own words. "Ignore me. I seem determined to play the disgruntled peasant today."

"And here I thought I was the only one dealing with fish out of water syndrome." Xander gave a half-smile.

Ethan smiled softly back. "No, you're not alone in that. Fancy a trip down to the village local this evening? It won't be what either of us is used to, and as I am apparently L'Enfant Terrible, we can expect to get thrown out on our ears, but there'll be beer until we do..."

"There could be pubbing." Xander flashed one of his infectious grins. "I've been trying to get with the local lingo."

"Good show, as our friendly fox-hunting gentleman would say." Ethan reached to the table for his mug of tea.

"Ah." Xander made a show of nodding wisely. "So that's what's behind the crankies."

"That's some of it." Ethan opted for honesty. "I already owe two apologies, and we've hardly been here twenty-four hours yet." He sighed. "How are you finding things so far?"

"As hideouts go, I've been in worse. Least I'm not having to share one bathroom with a few dozen girls."

"Never have quite understood your complaint about that." Ethan grinned before biting into a piece of toast and marmalade. "Apart from anything else, you seem to be rather fond of Slayers."

"Yeah, but it's not like they let me watch." Xander closed his mouth with an audible snap. "And can we pretend I didn't just say that? Every now and then I seem determined to prove those caveman instincts are alive and well."

"See, when you're gay, you can objectify all you want without ever having to feel guilty. Strange, that." Ethan winked. There was silence for a while as he ate then he looked up at Xander. "Being here will allow you more time with Kat at least."

Xander's smile was back, if a bit more goofy. "Yeah, which is not an insignificant silver lining."

"Good practice in night time stealth manoeuvres too, I imagine." Ethan kept his voice deadpan.

"I'm not sure it would be gentlemanly to comment on that," Xander said thoughtfully, reaching out and stealing a piece of toast from Ethan's plate. Since Xander had supplied the food in the first place, Ethan could hardly object.

In a more serious tone, he asked, "Have you spoken to Dawn at all?"

"Yeah." Xander's expression became grim. "Another blast from the good ol' Sunnydale past."

"Can you tell me anything helpful about this 'Doc'? Dawn seems understandably fragile currently, and I don't want to push her. And Ian... Well, he's never been an easy source of information."

"Doc looks like someone's grandfather, until he starts moving in ways most grandfathers –at least the human variety– don't. And he's damned hard to kill. This is twice now he's come back after I would've sworn he was dead. First time involved stabbing with a poker; second time was when Buffy shoved him off the tower." Xander shrugged. "Course everyone else who fell off that tower either survived or came back so..."

"So he's fast and hard to kill? Anything else?" Having finished his breakfast, Ethan began stacking the tray to take back downstairs.

Xander shrugged. "He had some kind of reputation with Sunnydale demons as being the place to go if you needed to know something."

"Like a sage or a mystic?"

"I don't know – do many sages have lizard tongues or tails?"

Ethan frowned. "Lizard tongues? As in forked and snaky?" The last dream he'd shared with Rupert came flooding back to him.

"As in way longer and more prehensile than anything you expect to see coming out of the mouth of a guy who looks like somebody's grandfather." Xander gave another shrug. "Definitely reptiley; can't get more specific than that."

"I don't suppose you had much time for research during your first encounter with him, but I think some may be in order now. After all, I assume we brought all those damn books with us for some reason beyond taking up valuable suitcase space in the car boots." Ethan wondered distractedly if Rupert was going to let them out for shopping trips or if they really were besieged here, and if the latter was the case, he supposed a pub-crawl was out of the question as well. He gave Xander a glum look.

"That's a big part of being a Scooby, sitting around looking through dusty old tomes for that one elusive piece of information that will save the day." Xander looked at him closely. "And anticipating research isn't what's responsible for the sad sack expression, is it?"

Sitting back in his chair, Ethan motioned with his head to tell Skunk she could get on his lap. His fingers combed her long fur as he looked appraisingly at Xander. "Of Rupert and I, which of us do you think would be better at dealing with sudden change?"

Xander considered the question, reaching out to idly pet Giddy who had approached when Skunk had. "I'd say both of you have had more than your share."

"Tactful non-answer, that." Ethan smiled wryly. "Since my mid twenties, I've moved around, staying no more than two or three months in any one place. I kept myself detached from people and places, letting nothing tie me down. Change was my way of life, and indeed, my modus operandi. Then there was four years of Initiative hell, of course, wherein the day-to-day monotony was almost worse than the– than anything else. And then there was Rupert and 17, Mountbatten Road..."

Xander's mouth twisted upwards. "And you got attached." Pursing his lips, Ethan nodded. Xander smiled sympathetically. "So now you're feeling homesick."

"I know it was a Hellmouth, but don't you ever miss Sunnydale?" Ethan asked, changing the subject slightly, or at least the object.

"Some," Xander said easily. "I miss the people we lost more than the place, but yeah, every now and then I still get a nostalgic pang for ye old school library. Or Giles' place. Or Buffy's. Surprisingly, I don't miss the house I grew up in at all."

Hmm, so much Ethan could ask about there. He knew the bare bones of Xander's childhood, enough to know it held similarities to his own, so the sarcastic 'surprisingly' was not, well, a surprise. Ethan had also been told, mainly by Rupert, about Xander's relationship with Anya the ex-vengeance demon, but no details. Xander himself had yet to share much on either subject, but then again, Ethan had been hesitant to ask. "I think one has to have had good experiences in a place to miss it once you leave," he said gently. "I certainly have never missed my childhood home." Although he did still think fondly sometimes of his Nan's house.

"Yeah. It's more the people than the location that you end up missing. It's what happened with those people that makes you miss a place. I'm not saying the place doesn't matter, but as long as you still have the people, you can find another place."

"Very wise," Ethan said with a sardonic little smile. "Places do matter though. Time as well. People, location, and a place in history – they all make up the unique pattern, the fingerprint if you like, for a specific memory."

"Can't argue with that," Xander said easily.

"So," Ethan started, suddenly wanting to move on to lighter topics, but not really being able to think of any. He opted for his current bugbear. "Fancy taking up a career as a hunt saboteur?"

Xander grinned. "You got something specific in mind?"

"Not yet, but however much trouble it gets me in, I won't tolerate it anywhere near me... even if I have to go out and change the scent of every local fox to protect them." He grimaced at Xander. "I've already been a bit of a git about this today."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Xander told him. "If I was confronted with people who hunted carpenters for sport, I probably wouldn't be all sweetness and light either."

Xander was a good mate, Ethan decided. It wasn't that the lad wouldn't tell him clearly enough when he thought Ethan was wrong, but he was supportive when Ethan wasn't expecting it, and he was unarguably loyal. Ethan tried to think of a way to express his appreciation without embarrassing both of them, failed, and opted instead for a smirk and innuendo. "You're a good man to have at my back." It wasn't as if Xander would expect anything different from Ethan.

"As long as it's clear there's no ogling happening when I'm back there," Xander replied in kind with a grin. "Not even a stray glance. Nope, none at all."

Xander was so very obviously relaxed and joking that Ethan had to wonder if the embarrassing kiss had actually helped the lad admit something to himself. He was contemplating steering the conversation into that area when he sensed the approach of his husband. "Rupert's on his way," he told Xander with an evil smile. "Quick, look heterosexual!"

Xander rolled his eyes and then very deliberately stuck his tongue out at Ethan. That, of course, was when Rupert came in. Sensing Rupert behind him, Ethan merely smirked more blatantly and said, "I could show you how to use that if you like."

"Can't leave you alone for a minute without you causing trouble, can I?" Rupert asked drily, his hands falling to rest on Ethan's shoulders. Beside Xander, Giddy perked up and barked at his master's appearance.

Ethan lifted a hand to rub over one of Rupert's. "Hello, dear. Come to tell me off?"

"If I can work it into my busy schedule of abusing animals," Rupert replied in the same dry tone.

Ethan looked down. _'Sorry,_ ' he sent then decided it would be better out loud. "I'm sorry."

Xander cleared his throat and stood. "I think I hear someone calling me somewhere so I'll just..." he gestured toward the door.

"Thanks for breakfast, Xander," Ethan said, trying to show with his smile that he meant more than just the food.

"Any time," the younger man replied, returning the smile. "If this Watcher gig doesn't work out maybe I can fall back on waiter."

"You'd certainly encourage appetites in a tux," Ethan announced, deliberately salaciously, his gaze roaming over Xander's body.

"Lucky for me I have a girlfriend who can kick the asses of people who want to put me on the menu. You'll just have to make do with looking." Xander grinned, turned and left.

Rupert moved around to sit in the chair beside Ethan. "Do I even want to know what that was about?"

After checking with his pattern senses that Xander was really gone, Ethan answered. "I think that was healing, actually. Whatever was fractured between us during my unpleasant Chaos-fuelled attack on him seems truly mended now."

"So you're not about to throw me over and run off with Xander then, I take it." Rupert reached for his hand.

Ethan lifted Skunk and kissed the top of her head before putting her on the floor beside him where she bounced and yapped, apparently expecting something exciting to now happen. Ethan slid smoothly from his chair onto his knees and laid one arm over Rupert's legs, taking the proffered hand into his. "Not very likely now, is it?"

"If for no other reason than, as Xander pointed out, Kat would kick your arse."

"I'm not afraid of Kat," Ethan said, quite truthfully, sending a mental command to Skunk to sit and quieten down, which she did. Looking up at Rupert from under his brow, Ethan asked, "Are you very annoyed with me?"

"I should be," Rupert told him. "You were deliberately being the most contrary git that you could manage."

"I know," Ethan admitted, looking down again glumly.

"Do you want to tell me why?" Rupert asked him gently.

"You're presuming I know." Ethan grimaced and then shrugged. "I suppose I'm a grouchy fish out of water who's missing his nice little glass bowl in the city."

Understanding flashed through Rupert's eyes. "Because that was ours."

Ethan nodded, looking down again. "You rescued me, took me there... It was the first home I've had since we were together before. I'm embarrassing myself with this level of sentimentality, but..." He shrugged helplessly.

Rupert brushed a hand lightly against Ethan's cheek. "This isn't permanent, you realise. It's not like the house has fallen into a sinkhole; when this is all over, we can go back."

"That would be nice." Ethan laid his head down onto Rupert's legs and let his eyes close for a few seconds.

"Maybe this wasn't the best place to come," Rupert said as he absently stroked Ethan's hair.

"No, this was a good choice." Ethan hurriedly reassured. "Very sound strategy, especially if you let me beef up your old wards. Or better still, we do it together. I'll adjust to the move, and providing Squire Matthew keeps the hunt well away from me, I'll even do my best to get along with him."

"Matthew's not that avid a hunter. For him, it's mostly an excuse for a wild horse ride."

"I'm sure we can find some friendly imps to help him out there," Ethan said, looking up at last with just the hint of a wicked smile.

Rupert gave him a look that was equal parts of exasperation and affection. "Some things never change, do they?"

Stroking a hand between Rupert's thighs, Ethan asked, "Do you really want them to?"

"You going to remind me why I don't?" Rupert asked, eyes bright with a mischief that matched that within Ethan's own heart.

"What do you think?" Ethan let his fingers move higher, teasing and dancing. "My ride earlier was cut rather short."

"You weren't able to keep your seat." Rupert let his legs fall more open, giving Ethan better access.

"There wasn't anything to... hold on to." Ethan moved his hand up the inner seam of Rupert's jeans and then up further to the fly. "I need something to grip, you see."

He could see Rupert's hands tighten on the chair's armrests. "I believe we should be able to accommodate you now."

"So I see." Ethan grinned, his fingers tracing. "It's impressive. Do you think my mount may buck?"

"I think it would be safe to say he's quite spirited." Rupert's voice was taking on that husky quality which marked arousal.

Cupping the growing erection, Ethan squeezed and said, "I wouldn't ever want to tame such a mount."

Rupert brushed a hand against Ethan's cheek. "You'd be the only one who could."

"Don't want to," Ethan reiterated, rising to his feet. "I'd rather my mount be like a pooka and take me where he will." He began to undress.

"A really wild ride is what you're looking for then," Rupert observed, sliding down in his chair and watching Ethan through half-shuttered eyes.

"Oh yes. That would suit me just fine." He laid his clothes carefully on the other chair, taking his time over it all.

Rupert waited until he was finished, then stood, stalking towards him with the gait of a predator. "Always looking for the edge, aren't you?"

Ethan felt a heavy surge of blood into his cock just in response to the way Rupert was looking. He gazed intensely back. "Am I the Magician, dearheart? Am I in control of these dangerous forces I play with? Or am I the Fool who walks blithely over the edge, his little dog at his heels?"

A faint smile touched Rupert's lips as his gaze went to where Skunk was lying with Giddy. "Well, you've got the little dog..."

"I do indeed. You better catch me when I fall then." Ethan moved into Rupert's arms.

"Always," Rupert vowed, closing his arms around him tightly.

There was always something highly erotic about being naked when Rupert was fully dressed. Ethan relished the hug, wriggling against Rupert and tilting his head sideways for a kiss. Rupert obliged with a teasing brush of lips against lips, before pulling back and giving Ethan a look that was both predatory and possessive, and possibly also pornographic.

Ethan's eyes flickered shut briefly as he felt another surge of arousal hit him. Again, just from a look. "So how's the ride so far?" Rupert growled into his ear.

"Full of exciting promise," Ethan replied, rubbing his cheek catlike against Rupert's. "But it's hard to judge until we actually leave the starting stalls."

Rupert chuckled as he walked Ethan backwards to the bed. "Incorrigible brat."

Ethan found himself being pushed down onto the mattress, Rupert following him down and covering Ethan's body with his own. Ethan immediately wrapped his legs and arms around Rupert. "You wouldn't like me corrigible. Where would be the fun, the challenge, in that?"

"Challenging is a good word for you." Rupert lowered his head and ravaged Ethan's mouth.

Groaning, Ethan writhed under the savage kiss, trying to give back at least a little of what he was receiving. He thrust his cock against the roughness of Rupert's jeans, as his hands slipped under clothing to clutch at the warm skin of Rupert's back.

"I should do something to correct your bad behaviour this morning," Rupert murmured almost thoughtfully against Ethan's lips.

Narrowing his eyes, Ethan craned his head back into the bedding to try to study Rupert. "Normally I'd be overjoyed at the sound of that, but just recently there's been an alarming fondness for magical restriction in certain areas."

The smile Rupert gave him did nothing to calm his uneasiness. "Perhaps that just means I've finally found a punishment that works."

Ethan shifted uneasily. "Rupert, I genuinely hate it," he said, trying hard for a reasonable tone. It was the truth too, if perhaps not the whole truth.

"You do grasp the actual purpose of punishment, don't you? That you're not actually supposed to like it?"

"There's punishmen, and there's punishment." How was he going to get out of this without spoiling the mood? Well, if he wanted to act without ethics there were several ways available, but Ethan simply wasn't prepared to engage in such practices with Rupert anymore. Well, other than arousal twisting, but Rupert had never complained about that.

Rupert slid a hand between them and wrapped it around Ethan's length. "Considering how hard you are while we're talking about it, I don't think you hate it as much as you're insisting either." There was a definite air of smug amusement about Rupert.

Bugger. "Rupert, please. I said I was sorry, and I meant it!"

"And you think that means I should let you off easy?" As Rupert spoke, his fingers moved along Ethan's cock, sending off tiny bursts of magic.

Ethan gritted his teeth, trying not to moan, but barely succeeding. "Please. Make me do things. Hurt me. Just don't put that bloody ring on me, please."

Rupert seemed to consider the request for a moment then pulled back and challenged, "Convince me."

Still not quite sure how he'd got into this –one minute they'd been exchanging witty banter, the next he'd lost all control of the situation– Ethan nodded; here was his chance. He pushed gently on Rupert's chest. "Lay back?"

Rupert did so, his smile still carrying that air of smug amusement.

All right. Now all Ethan had to do was get Rupert so lost in pleasure that he forgot all about the damn ring. Should be easy enough, so long as his tactic wasn't guessed... Ethan sighed. The trouble with the bond was that his tactic was probably already all too well anticipated and understood by Rupert. Oh well, he had no choice but to try it anyway.

Ethan leant over and kissed Rupert slowly and deeply. As he danced his tongue around inside the kiss, Ethan let his hand move down to unfasten Rupert's trousers. Rupert responded to his actions, sliding a hand lightly down Ethan's spine, but he continued to let him have control.

Ethan pushed his hand inside the jeans and encircled Rupert's cock, stroking it slowly, almost absent-mindedly, and using no magic. At the same time, however, he began to map out Rupert's arousal in its glorious four-dimensional matrix. Outwardly, Rupert's only response to the gentle touches was a soft intake of breath, but Ethan could sense there was far more happening under the surface.

Still kissing deeply, Ethan used the lightest possible magical touch to pick up key nodes and knit them together. Not yet tweaking, just interconnecting, and preparing his way. In the meantime, he circled his thumb slickly around on the underside of the head of Rupert's cock, deliberately stimulating one of Rupert's most sensitive areas, but giving him nowhere near enough pressure.

Rupert made a small sound of pleasure, shifting slightly to press himself more firmly into Ethan's hand. "Not a bad start."

"Greedy," Ethan said as he couldn't resist it. Then, so that Rupert couldn't see his smirk, he slipped lower in the bed. Much lower, so that his head was above Rupert's erection, still half buried in the open jeans. With a small noise of appreciation for the arousing picture before him, Ethan tugged at the denim, and Rupert obligingly lifted his hips so that Ethan could remove both trousers and boxers. Ethan then opened Rupert's legs and knelt between them; he blew softly on the proud cock below. "Ready?" he asked softly.

He got a very Ripperish grin in response. "Try me."

Ethan stuck his tongue out as he moved down, and as just the tip of his tongue touched the tip of Rupert's cock, he tweaked, pulling at the string of nodes he'd created. Rupert bucked violently, as if an electrical current had wracked his nerves.

Gripping around the base with one hand, Ethan explored with his tongue, bathing Rupert's shaft. He tied the movements of his tongue to his weaving through Rupert's arousal, so that every lick, every wet caress, tightened the cords.

Rupert gasped and shook under the attention, clearly losing himself in the sensations; Ethan could sense the not-so-slow build up within Rupert and wondered just how far he could push him. Not that he'd allow orgasm just yet, but while Ethan could control Rupert's reactions, he had no hold on Rupert's mind. Groaning softly, Ethan opened his mouth and took much of the length inside, sucking and working with his tongue.

"Ethan," Rupert growled; Ethan wasn't sure if it was plea or threat.

"Mmm?" He paused, lifting his gaze to Rupert's face.

The glint in Rupert's eye was just warning enough for Ethan to brace himself a split second before he was tackled. There was a whoosh of air, and then Ethan found himself lying on his back, bouncing slightly on the mattress. He had a second at the most to adjust to this before Rupert was on top of him.

"Ripper. Christ..."

"Like this wasn't exactly what you were after," Rupert growled, his accent getting rougher. He pushed Ethan's legs further apart, settling between them. Ethan stared up at Rupert and ever so slowly grinned. "Brat," Rupert told him, and with that, he pushed into Ethan's body on a stream of magic.

Gasping, Ethan pushing his head back into the covers as his legs came up to wrap around Rupert again. "Your brat."

Rupert's response was a wordless growl and another hard thrust. Then more of them still. There was no slow and gentle this time; it was hard and frenzied right from the start. Whimpering and gasping as Rupert inched him across the covers, Ethan could do very little but let it happen and relish every sensation. He lifted his hands to cup Rupert's face, losing himself in the hard glare that was being directed down upon him. Some of the fierceness went out of Rupert's eyes at Ethan's touch, although he kept his movements strong.

The relentless pressure over his prostate was forming a growing, tightening knot of need within Ethan. He locked his gaze with Rupert's and let one hand fall between them to his own cock. "Please?"

For a moment, Ethan thought Rupert was going to deny him, but then Rupert gave a single curt nod. "Do it," he growled.

"Thank you," he breathed, then pulled on himself hard. "Ahh, Ripper," he groaned, tipping his head back and relinquishing his fractured control of Rupert's arousal. It wasn't as if he could concentrate on anything much anymore beyond the rising crescendo of sensation in his own body.

Rupert groaned as his natural arousal pattern was allowed to reassert itself. His movements became more ragged and urgent as he watched Ethan stroke himself through half-closed eyes.

"Ripper, Ripper, Ripper..." It was a panted mantra as Ethan's every muscle tensed, and he knew he couldn't stop, but still he begged for permission. "Please, Ripper!"

Rupert gave him a single word. "Yes." Ethan lost himself somewhere as his climax claimed him. There was a vague awareness that he was probably being rather too noisy, but he could no more do anything about that than he could control the spasms of his body.

He came back to himself to find Rupert lying heavily on top of him, radiating sated contentment. "Hello, dear," Ethan murmured softly, stroking Rupert's hair and letting the silly grin that seemed to want to curve his lips to have its way.

Rupert lifted his head enough to smile faintly at him. "Apology accepted."

Ethan giggled. "So I'll just be off to apologise to Matthew now, shall I?"

"You're not his type," Rupert deadpanned.

"Oh, I am. It just depends what I'm wearing. I'm sure I could persuade him to chase after me if I wore the right coat..."

Rupert sighed and rolled them over so that he was on the bottom. "You're going to keep worrying at that, aren't you?"

Sighing too, Ethan nodded. "The best I can offer is to stop talking about it."

"I can promise there won't be any hunts while we're here, but I can't change what I or my cousin did in the past."

"Thank you." Ethan could hardly ask for any more than that. He tried to explain why he felt so strongly, but it was hard as he didn't fully understand himself. "I think I may be feeling like we're a family of foxes run to ground by overwhelming odds, and any moment now they'll send the terriers in."

Rupert rubbed Ethan's back comfortingly. "This is one den the hounds will find difficult to breach," he said, "but I do understand the feeling of being cornered. I feel a bit of that myself."

Ethan stared into Rupert's eyes, a little disturbed that Rupert too was feeling his back to the wall. "Can we work on the wards? I'd feel a little better, I think, if I could feel confident in them. As they are at the moment... Well, I could break through them easily enough, and you wouldn't even know I'd done it. I know our enemy's magic is different from mine, but... Well, I'd feel better if I could work on them with you."

"I was going to ask you to help me with those this afternoon anyway."

"Thank you." Ethan rolled to the side so his weight wasn't on Rupert, but cuddled close to him. "Am I a trial to you?"

"Sometimes," Rupert replied easily, "but I've discovered most things worth something are from time to time."


	4. Chapter 4

There came a quiet 'wuff' from Gwydion, followed by a knock on the bedroom door. Giles heard a girl's voice –Dawn, he thought– ask if he was in there.

It was possible Ethan had actually fallen asleep, despite it being just midday. Sliding out of bed carefully so as not to disturb him, Giles pulled on some trousers and went to answer the door. The two dogs accompanied him.

Dawn was indeed on the other side. She blinked at Giles and grinned cheekily; clearly he looked rather rumpled. "Did I interrupt something, Giles?" she asked, trying to crane her head around to see inside.

He moved with her, keeping her view of the room behind him obstructed. "At the moment, nothing more exciting than a nap," he replied drily.

"Had you been here ten minutes ago, however," Ethan drawled from the bed, "You would have seen something highly educational." Clearly not asleep then. Dawn giggled, which was good to see. She had been far too pale and quiet yesterday after the attack and long drives the day before.

"You could at least attempt to maintain propriety occasionally," Giles said mildly to Ethan, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that Ethan was decent, or as decent as he ever was, before moving aside to let Dawn in.

After greeting Gwydion and Skunk, both of whom were wagging their tails happily, Dawn walked a little hesitantly inside, but there was nothing more exciting to see than a fully dressed Ethan turning the bed down. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "You have a princess bed!"

Ethan sniggered loudly.

"I beg your pardon?" Giles asked, looking from Dawn to the monstrosity of a bed and back again.

"Well, you know, with the canopy and the four posters and the curtains and everything!" Dawn walked towards it, obviously wanting a better look, but Ethan drew the curtains shut in a hurry and stood in front of where they met with his arms folded.

"I think not, young lady."

"I always wanted a princess bed when I was a kid," Dawn said, looking at Ethan appraisingly as if trying to calculate a way past him.

"Was there something you wanted now, Dawn?" Giles asked, trying to distract her from the piece of furniture which was decidedly not a princess bed.

Dawn turned to face him. "Yes, Pamela's just got here. She's being entertained by Matthew in the, um, drawing room? I think that's what he called it. All Agatha Christie and lead piping in the conservatory. Or, uh, the drawing room."

Not entirely sure what Dawn was babbling about, not that that was anything new when dealing with the original Sunnydale group, Giles concentrated on the bit he did understand, Pamela's arrival. "I should go down and talk to her – Pamela, not Agatha Christie," he said. "Find out what's been happening in London since we left."

"Meeting time?" Ethan asked from behind him. "Want me to gather the masses for you?"

They did need to have a sit down to make sure everyone was on the same page and to map out their strategy from here. Giles nodded. "If you would. The drawing room is as good a place to have it as anywhere."

"I'll gather them all safely in," Ethan promised. He walked over and kissed Giles on the cheek before summoning Skunk to heel and slipping from the room.

Dawn grinned cheekily at Giles; he raised an eyebrow at her and went about getting himself a bit more unrumpled. "So," she started as Giles combed his hair, "is this really the room you had as a kid?" Did she really believe he couldn't see her sidestepping towards the bed?

"Yes," he replied, casually moving so he was still between the bed and her.

"It's nice." Dawn shuffled away again. "You know Ian used to know Doc?"

"He mentioned it to Ethan, yes," Giles said, still moving with her.

"The way they looked at each other..." Dawn's voice seemed to fade, and when Giles glanced at her, he saw she was looking a little pale and wide-eyed again.

There wasn't much he could say to that to make it better. Giles touched her shoulder and smiled reassuringly, giving what comfort he could. "We should go down before Ethan rounds up everyone else. He might get the idea of starting the meeting without us."

She nodded, and they left the room. Giles called Gwydion to his side before closing the door tightly shut.

Contrary to expectations, Giles found only Pamela in the drawing room when he got there; she was organising some papers from a chair near to the fire. Standing up as Giles walked in, Pamela said, "Sir, it's good to see you. Ethan appears to be organising the making of refreshments before we start the meeting. Is that correct?"

"As usual, Pamela, I believe you knew our plans before I did," he said with a faint approving smile. He never took having such an efficient assistant for granted.

"Are you recovered from the attack?"

"As much as we can be at this stage, yes. We were able to fend off any physical damage, but emotional consequences are harder to avoid."

"Quite. It must have been very unsettling. I have the report from the investigating team we sent in yesterday, but I'm afraid they didn't learn much." Pamela began to collect together several folders and papers. "Where will you be sitting, sir?"

"Uhh..." Giles looked around, his eyes lighting on the old leather chair in the corner that had been there seemingly forever. It had been his father's favourite, and Giles had memories of sitting on the man's lap in it when he was very small. He was glad to see Matthew had kept it. "Over there," he said, gesturing and heading towards it.

Pamela walked over with him, and as he sat down, handed him the folders and files. "You'll probably want to have a look through these, sir, before the meeting starts. Not that there's been a great deal of progress on any front, I'm afraid."

There was a noise from the doorway, and Dawn and Gwydion came in; had she been hesitating outside? If so, that kind of timidity wasn't like the girl. Perhaps she had simply been communing with his dog.

"Hello, Dawn," Pamela said, her voice softening, perhaps without her realising it.

Gwydion seemed to sense that Dawn wasn't entirely herself as well; the dog usually went directly to Giles' side when he came into a room, but although he looked over at his master, right now Gwydion was staying with Dawn. He sat beside her and looked up with deep puppy eyes, the picture of canine concern.

Dawn answered Pamela perkily enough, "Hi, Miss Smythe-Tompkins. Sorry, I didn't say hello earlier, but you seemed busy." She sat down on the edge of one of the more modern chairs and combed her fingers through Gwydion's coarse fur.

"That's perfectly all right, Dawn. Matthew Giles was just showing me around as I'm going to be staying here occasionally."

"That reminds me, Pamela," Giles put in, "I told Matthew to talk to you about reimbursement of the added expenses having us here entails."

"Of course. I'll set up a system so that he won't have to ask in future. Is he to attend this meeting?"

Giles nodded. "He's in this as much as any of us now, just by virtue of us being here."

Pamela smiled warmly. "I'm glad. If you don't mind me saying so, Sir, your cousin–" There was a noise in the hallway. All three of them looked to the doorway as in trooped Ethan and his retinue of refreshment makers, which group seemed to include everyone left in the house bar Mrs B.

Trays of tea, coffee and soft drinks were put down, as were plates of sandwiches and cake. Then everyone found a seat. Well, everyone apart from Ian, who seemed to prefer to stand by the window.

"There now," Ethan said, sitting on the arm of Giles' chair with a large plate of nibbles. "Propriety can consider itself sated." He winked down at Giles.

"I've noticed propriety tends to go out the window when you're around," Giles observed wryly, resting a hand on Ethan's thigh.

Matthew was quietly serving people drinks, but he looked up to say, "Should have taken that double-glazing salesman up on his offer then, should I?"

It was clearly meant as a good-humoured joke, but Giles felt Ethan tense and say rather acidly, "Not to worry, squire. I'm sure that should anything escape you'll be able to hunt it down."

Giles tightened his fingers' grip in warning and turned to his assistant. "Pamela, if you'd like to give an overview of what's happening in London...?"

"Of course, sir." Pamela frowned slightly as she sorted her papers. "Well, the initial reports from the Council team investigating 17, Mountbatten have discovered very little beyond the fact that rather a lot of magic had recently been used there." She coughed slightly in what Giles had grown to recognise as ironic humour. "We managed to obtain the broken porcelain statue, and that is currently under laboratory analysis. The owners claim it was a Christmas gift, although neither of them seem to remember from whom. Your neighbour on the other side is proving less helpful."

"Yes, well, I don't think the word 'helpful' is in Mr. Barnet's vocabulary," Giles observed wryly.

"There's no news of any kind concerning Slayers, except..." she paused as if undecided whether to say something or not.

"Except what?" Xander asked, from his position on an old settee with Kat. He looked at one of the delicate crustless triangles that were what passed for sandwiches in Mrs B's repertoire, and shrugging, ate it whole.

Pamela looked uncomfortable. "Joshua Higgins rather alarmed some people with the suggestion that if this has been going on longer than we suspect –that is, before Ms Travers' defection– then it could be possible that some of the Slayers we thought lost to the Bringers as Potentials may actually be in the enemy's hands. Very few really give this theory any credence, sir."

"It is unlikely," Giles agreed, "although we've certainly seen other unlikely things. It's something to keep in mind, but I don't think we need to get overly alarmed about it unless more evidence comes to light. Until Francesca was dismissed, she had been focused on taking control of the Slayers through the Council. She would hardly have been siphoning off what she looked at as her own future assets."

Pamela nodded. "That's really all the news I have, I'm afraid. Intelligence are looking forward to a fuller report concerning what you discovered during your scrying, of course."

"We provided the most pertinent details already," Giles said. "I'm not sure if the rest would mean anything to anyone beyond the two of us."

Ethan stirred beside him, finishing a mouthful before he spoke. "What have you told them, dearheart? While I don't suppose for a minute that anyone's still there, it should be possible to work out a location, more or less. Perhaps more of the less, but even so."

"I wasn't able to give much in the way of location, I fear," Giles admitted. He didn't have Ethan's ability to read the patterns they'd been travelling through. "Perhaps you could provide them with what you were able to glean...?"

Ethan nodded; he patted Giles' hand and stood up, passing him the plate of food. "I don't suppose you have a map of London handy, do you, Pammy?"

"Of course." As if there'd ever been any doubt that she would have one. Pamela opened her brief case and took out both an ordnance survey map and an A-Z.

Ethan took both and went over to the little table near the window. "This may take a few minutes," he said drily. "Don't wait on me."

"So we're trying to find out where they are," Xander said, gesturing over at Ethan. "But what about our base here? How good are our defences?"

Matthew looked up from his cup of tea and said, "The Estate is warded, and I believe Rupert intends to check on all the wards this afternoon."

"We're going to do a great deal more than check on them," Ethan muttered from his table without looking up.

"Ethan and I will reinforce the wards as necessary," Giles said. "There's a good strong base for us to build on; with that to work with, I'm fairly confident we should be able to make the estate as impervious to magical attack as is possible."

"What about physical attack?" Kat asked. "Do we get to patrol?"

Giles nodded. "It certainly would be a prudent precaution." These little sausage rolls were rather good, if crumbly. Giles brushed surreptitiously at his shirtfront.

"With Matthew's permission," Pamela started, smiling at Giles' cousin, "we can complement the magical defences with some technological ones. Perhaps not all around the Estate, but certainly all around the house and at key points of the perimeter fencing."

Matthew smiled back and gestured expansively as he told her, "You may do to my perimeter whatever would please you most, dear lady."

Ethan sniggered audibly, and Pamela... was she blushing? Now that was interesting. And also, Giles sternly reminded himself, none of his business.

"Do you have any magical ability, Matthew?" Ethan asked suddenly and a little too loudly.

Giles saw his cousin twitch slightly before Matthew turned his gaze from Pamela to Ethan. "A little, but it's hardly my forte. I prefer to work with things I can see and touch."

"Yes, magic requires a level of sensitivity," Ethan replied dismissively as if he hadn't expected Matthew to be up to much in that area.

"There are all kinds of sensitivity," Giles said, giving Ethan a quelling look. "I've certainly encountered more than one mage who was downright insensitive when it came to things other than magic."

Ethan screwed up his face almost angrily at Giles, but then looked down, seeming chastised. "There was a reason I asked," he told the map in front of him.

"Which was?" Matthew inquired almost gently.

Ethan dragged his gaze back to Matthew. "I want to strengthen the wards considerably. My intent, should it find approval, is to block access to anyone who carries Chaos with them, either as an innate power or as an item. I can't block everyone, of course; that would be an unusable system and liable to cause comment in the local community. But I want to set up a network that will mean Rupert and I, and you if you're able to receive it, will be aware the instant anyone enters the grounds of the estate. We'll get a visual and a vague awareness of intent. For instance, enough to know if it's the postman."

Giles nodded his head approvingly. "That would definitely be useful."

Ian stirred from where he stood at the window. "You can add me to your list of receivers as well, if you like." His lips turned up slightly in an ironic grin. "I believe I should prove to be sensitive enough."

"That's certainly fine with me." Ethan smiled up at Ian, who was leaning on the windowsill just beyond Ethan's small desk. "Matthew?"

"Whatever you think best, old son. You seem to have everything nicely organised."

Ethan laughed. "Order comes as easily to me as magic apparently does to you, so thank you." He nodded graciously at Matthew. The obvious effort Ethan was now making encouraged Giles.

"Speaking of order, I'll work up a schedule for patrols around the estate's perimeter if everyone is in agreement?" Giles looked around the room questioningly.

Dawn immediately brightened up. "Does anyone have a sword I can borrow?"

"It's a Watcher house; I'm sure there's a spare sword or two lying around somewhere." Xander grinned. "Maybe even a Giles starter model."

 _'Should she?'_ Ethan sent Giles immediately. _'Is this wise?'_

 _'The last time someone tried to keep Dawn on the sidelines, there were tasers and kicking involved,'_ Giles replied, remembering Buffy and Xander's ill-fated attempt at keeping Dawn out of the last battle with the First. _'It wasn't pretty. Dawn can handle herself, and it will be far easier keeping her under guard if we let her help than if we try to lock her away. We'll make sure she doesn't go out on her own.'_

Giles saw Ethan nod, but there was no reply.

Megan made a small throat-clearing sound and spoke. "There was the attack on our house, and the attack on Dawn, both on the same night. Was anyone else maybe a target on the same night?"

"Not as far as we know, Megan," Pamela answered, putting her teacup back on the saucer. "Although that's a good thought, and one we had ourselves. The Devon coven does seem to be having some problems in general, but those are apparently, um, 'nothing to concern us'." She offered Ian a slightly embarrassed smile.

Ian grinned. "You've been talking to Lucy, I see."

"Indeed," Pamela confirmed. "Mr Woodson, perhaps if either you or Dawn could provide a few more details of the attack you thwarted, the Council's research department would have a little more grist for the mill."

Ian's smile faded, expression going totally, carefully, blank. "An old minion of the other side tricked and forced his way into Dawn's room. I stopped him and drove him off. Then Dawn and I left."

"Yes, I already knew that much, sir. I was hoping for a little more detail? For instance, how did this minion–"

"Pammy," Ethan interrupted, his tone warning. "I'll get you up to date on Doc when this meeting's over. Let's move on now, eh?"

Pamela seemed a little startled and looked towards Giles. He cleared his throat before saying, "So, we're dealing with tracking down what we can and shoring up our defences here, as well as continuing with the prophecy research. Which has had distressingly little progress so far, but perhaps with new events, we'll be able to find new information."

"Oh," Dawn piped up. "I think I maybe made some. I forgot with the... with everything that's happened."

"Completely understandable that it slipped your mind," Giles reassured the girl. "What have you got?"

"Uh, well, my notebooks are still in Cambridge, but I think I can remember. I was taking it line by line. Some of it is obvious, of course. Like the patterns unravelling. That's got to be Chaos messing with Order and, uh, established structure and that sort of thing, right?" She looked at Ethan, who nodded, before she went on. "Well, later on, it goes on about a maze. And like if Order is a straight line, Chaos would be a maze, wouldn't it? And it says only those who've been touched by it can walk it. Something like that. And I think that means Ethan, and, uh, maybe Ian? I think you might have to find something hidden in Chaos."

That certainly made sense and opened up another avenue of research. "Right then," Giles said, giving Dawn a nod. "If that is the case, we need to figure out what it is we're to find. So that will be the new thing to focus on, looking for anything, be it prophecy, history or legend that may fit the bill for our target."

As Pamela made a note on her laptop, Dawn fidgeted on the edge of her chair, crumbling a cake up on her plate. "There was something else too."

"Yes, Dawn?" Giles asked.

She spoke more hurriedly now, rushing the words out. "I, uh, well, I'm not completely dumb, you know. Doc's attack kinda underlined what I already suspected. I've been called 'nothing' before, and I can't see the word 'key' without thinking ab– Without thinking."

There was a slight noise from Ethan's table as the point of his pencil snapped. _'Bugger,'_ Giles heard in his head.

Deciding that there was nothing to do but confirm Dawn's suspicions, Giles told her, "It is looking as if you are as much a part of this as Ethan and me." He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "Welcome to the prophecy."

Quite a few people in the room looked mystified, but no one in the know, himself included, seemed to feel any hurry about enlightening them. _'We're going to have to tell Buffy, you know,'_ Ethan sent.

Before Giles could answer, Pamela broke the silence to say, "We're continuing to look into the bear mentioned in the prophecy, but no one has yet managed to connect the bear symbol to known Chaos cults, other than those based in Russia, none of which seem to fit. Of course, as we are, I am told" –she gave Ethan an ironic smile– "bastions of Order, we're perhaps not the best suited for such research."

"Au contraire," Ethan replied, smirking a little. "Who knows a person better than his enemy? But rest assured, I haven't forgotten the bear. There was that star chart we found in the office Xander and I investigated which was another, albeit tenuous, link."

Xander frowned. "The Chaos cult comes from outer space?"

"It was a chart of Ursa Major," Ethan explained, and when he met a further blank look, added, "The Great Bear?"

"Must've been absent from astronomy the day they covered that," Xander quipped. "Y'know, if we'd had an astronomy class. So we've got stars named after a bear. And that means...? Is that something we can use or just stars?"

"Well, it widens the possible areas to research," Ethan said, playing with his broken pencil. "The Great Bear contains the Plough –the Big Dipper to you yanks– and the pointer stars that make identifying the North Star easier. There's a great deal of myth concerning the constellation. Some of it may have relevance." He snorted. "Or I may be clutching at interstellar straws. Hard to tell, really."

"Can't hurt to check it out," Giles said. "That's something the Council's research department would be able to handle, I think."

"Yes, sir." Pamela nodded. "They are."

 _'You need to talk to Dawn,'_ Ethan sent. _'And I need to call her older sister. How about you end this meeting now, we have our respective Summers girls chats, and then we see about those wards?'_

Giles gave Ethan a slight nod as he said, "Is there anything else anyone wants to bring up?" Silence greeted the question. "Then I think we can consider this meeting adjourned."

Skunk took that very instant to scamper into the room, not even slowing in speed as she launched herself at Ethan's lap. He caught her easily enough; perhaps he'd called her to him somehow. His face softened as he smiled down at the puppy. "Pammy, I've highlighted the general area here," he passed her the map back, "but if you don't mind, I'll keep the A-Z and try to provide more detail when I have time to concentrate. You're staying overnight, aren't you?"

She nodded. "Yes, Matthew has apparently been kind enough to allocate me a room as my office away from the office, so I'll be here a lot."

Ethan nodded. "Take care when travelling, eh?" He picked up the book, and with Skunk still in his arms, left the room.

Matthew stood and held out his hand to Pamela. "Shall I carry some of those for you? We can go to your office now, and you can let me know if there's anything lacking." If Giles didn't know his assistant better, he would have said Pamela simpered at Matthew then.

Everyone slowly filtered out of the drawing room leaving just Giles, his dog, and Dawn, who hadn't even stood up yet.

Giles regarded the girl for a moment as he finished the food on Ethan's plate, taking in her unusual quietness and the fears she wasn't quite hiding. Deciding that a chat might well do her some good, but that she might be more comfortable doing so while on the move, Giles stood and called Gwydion to him. "It's about time to take this fellow for a walk. Would you like to come along?"

She looked up and gave him an open smile. "I haven't seen much of the Estate by day yet so that would be neat." Standing up, she added. "I'll need to grab my coat from the, uh, morning room."

"We can do that on the way out."

It didn't take long for them to be both buttoned up against the cold and heading across the fields. "What was it like growing up here?" Dawn asked. "It's so... rural."

"Compared to Los Angeles, I suppose it is." He thought about his childhood and how best to describe it. "Growing up here was... good for the most part. Lots of places to play, especially for a child with a rather overactive imagination."

"Did you have a whole bunch of friends who'd come and play with you?"

"Most of my friendships were formed when I was at school," Giles replied, realising not for the first time that his childhood at home had been very solitary. It hadn't really bothered him when he'd been growing up; it was just the way things were.

"Least it was real." Dawn seemed surprised by her own words and hurriedly tried to move on from them. "The trees and everything, they're kind of like California but not. Everything's darker here. Deeper. The colours, I mean."

"England's a very different climate." He glanced sideways at Dawn as they paused while Gwydion moved off to sniff at a tree. "Funny thing about the past. It's only as real as your memories of it."

Dawn was silent for a few seconds before admitting, "I think about the physics of it a lot. Do you think that if there was a spell to take us back into the past... well, would I be there or not?"

Giles gave the question honest thought. "I think it would depend. As things stand there's really two pasts – the one we all remember with you, and the one that existed before you came to us. I think they probably both exist in the way of alternate dimensions."

She nodded and responded seriously. "And both realities converged at the point the monks made me. I kind of see that. But in the 'I'm real' reality, I can't be the Key, can I? I'm only the Key in the dimension where I popped into the world aged fourteen." She inhaled deeply. "And I think we need me to be the Key now, don't we?"

"I think you may need that part of you, yes." Giles turned to face her, catching and holding her gaze. "But being the Key makes you no less Dawn Summers, any more than being the Slayer makes your sister any less Buffy Summers. Or being... whatever it is Ethan and I are meant to be, Guardians, makes us any less ourselves. We all have our destined parts to play, but it is still us who play them."

She nodded again. "It's sort of easier this time because I'm not alone. I know I wasn't really alone last time, but..." She sighed.

"This time it's not all just about you," Giles finished with an understanding smile. Another nod from Dawn, then a smile, and then suddenly Giles found himself being hugged. Gwydion barked happily.

None of them were alone at the centre of this, and that was as much a comfort to Giles as it was to Dawn.


	5. Chapter 5

Ethan couldn't resist taking hold of Rupert's hand as they walked from the stables towards the house, their dogs trotting beside them. It had been a long ride around the borders of the twenty acres as they'd boosted and tweaked the wards together, but it had been highly enjoyable.

Every time the pair of them worked magic together, it was better than the last. They were learning to merge their magics almost effortlessly now. The wards had been substantially improved. No one would be able to enter the property without Rupert, Ian and Ethan knowing immediately. Chaos would have a hard to impossible job entering at all, having to pass over a threshold of pure order to do so. Even knowing what he and Rupert were capable of, the ease and power of the magic they'd applied today had impressed Ethan, and he was feeling quite exuberant.

He squeezed Rupert's hand. "We deserve a reward for our good work this afternoon."

"Did you have something particular in mind?" Rupert asked him with a small smile.

"Hmm, something decadent involving just the two of us. Does this mansion by any chance have a huge sunken bath somewhere?"

Rupert looked at him and chuckled. "You have rather grand illusions about my childhood home, don't you?"

Ethan grinned. "More like optimistic fantasies. Not even a hot tub?"

"I learnt heating spells to have consistently hot water in my shower. What do you think?"

"Bugger," Ethan said wistfully, pausing outside the kitchen door. "So what hidden treasures does Buckham Hall contain?"

"There's the attic," Rupert offered after a moment's thought.

Ethan considered that. "Might be nice to see it for real, compare it to the dream."

"The dream was quite accurate, at least to my memories of it." Rupert led them through the kitchen and upstairs.

They reached the third floor and an area Ethan hadn't yet seen. It was quite dusty, and the rooms they passed held the large white phantoms of covered furniture. Skunk ran around like a mad thing, investigating everything, while Giddy stayed closer to his master. "Can you imagine if we'd been children together here?" Ethan asked. "What a playground this place could have been."

"It was." Rupert smiled in fond remembrance. "Although it would have been more entertaining with you as a playmate, I'm sure."

"This is exactly the sort of old place that should hold a magical wardrobe," Ethan said, giving in to whimsy. "And of course I'd be the one who snuck through and ate the Turkish delight, drawing us both into Big Trouble in Little Narnia. You'd be the squeaky clean sword-wielding hero one. Lion's pet."

"I never had any luck finding a magical wardrobe," Giles replied, completely straight-faced, although Ethan could sense the humour lurking just below the surface. "I think my father must have made sure all such pieces of furniture were properly warded."

"Miserable of him, that." Ethan began to think about the matter more seriously. "It would be a relatively easy task, I suppose, to install a portal on the wood at the back of a deep wardrobe. Enchant it to work only when it was raining outside, of course – a simple matter of barometric pressure. Sadly, I know of nowhere quite like Narnia that it could lead to. Eternal winter and white-clad dominatrices there are a-plenty, but leonine Christ figures seem in short supply." He chuckled and then realised they'd stopped walking in front of a small, unassuming door at the end of the corridor.

Rupert opened it, revealing a very narrow stairway going up. "It's not exactly a portal to a magical world, but there were times when I was little that I pretended."

Ethan picked up Skunk to stop her getting underfoot, craning his head away from her enthusiastic licking. Gwydion padded up the stairs first, and the men followed. Ethan was aware of a sense of childish excitement, maybe because of the conversation they'd just had. When the uncarpeted wood creaked loudly, he jumped.

The stairs led directly up into the attic room. It was long, cold, filled with vast quantities of boxes and junk, and illuminated only by beams of sunlight shining through cracks in the roof. At least until Rupert found the light switch, anyway, after which dust motes danced under bare electric bulbs and a slightly singed scent filled the air. Ethan stared out over the room with a feeling akin to finding a treasure trove. Deja vu, too, was present. "Exactly like the dream."

Rupert was looking around with an expression of fond remembrance. "It hasn't changed as much as I would have expected. Or at all, really."

Keeping tight hold of Skunk, whom he didn't quite trust up here, Ethan asked, "Take me to where I found you in the dream?"

Rupert smiled and led him deeper into the room. The floor was boarded, but not covered by carpet or rug, and as in the rooms below, there was a lot of canvas sheeting protecting larger items from dust. "I think I must have looked under every one of those sheets at one time or another," Rupert commented as he led Ethan on a weaving path between the shrouded objects. "Curiosity was always a vice of mine. Most of the things stored here are completely mundane, but you'd be amazed at what an imaginative mind could make of them." He glanced at Ethan and smiled. "Or maybe you wouldn't."

Ethan smiled, but said nothing, appreciating the view as Rupert ducked down, bending almost double to make his way between two large covered objects, brushing the sheet out of the way as he did so Ethan could follow, which he did.

"This was a lot easier when I was ten," Rupert commented wryly. They came out into a small clear spot that Ethan instantly recognised from the dream. "And here we are."

"We are rather big for this space now," Ethan agreed, looking around the hidey-hole, which felt smaller still as Giddy pushed his way in. "What a wonderful den. I bet you snuck up here for hours at a time."

Rupert sat down and crossed his legs, fitting himself better in the small space. "Hours," he confirmed. "It would've been days in the winter if I could've got away with it."

Ethan saw the edge of something intriguing sticking out from under one the canvas walls to the den. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the inevitable crack of his joints, and put Skunk down. "Be good," he told her sternly. "You can look around and smell things, but no pushing things over or going into places that we couldn't get into after you." As she yapped once and scampered off, he called after her, "And no eating anything, no matter how interesting it smells!"

Lifting the canvas to reveal the old wooden chair beneath it, piled high with yet more boxes, Ethan discovered to his great joy, a little cache of boyish treasures hidden on the floor between the legs. There were old wizened conkers on strings, a penknife, matchboxes containing goodness knows what, a balsa wood plane, a notebook, pens and pencils, ancient tubes of sweets Ethan hadn't seen the like of in decades and –he pulled out the closest item– a copy of Wind in the Willows.

"Oh Ripper," he said softly. "I wish I'd really known you then."

"I'd forgotten about these things," Rupert said, taking the book from Ethan with a fond smile. "My own stash of sacred items." Gwydion hunkered down beside his master, and between the three of them, there was no more floor space.

Ethan took out the notebook. There were doodles of fighter planes on the cover, which made him smile. He thought twice about opening it, though, and offered it to Rupert. "What secrets might lurk in here, Biggles?"

Rupert turned his smile on the notebook as he took it and flipped through the pages; Ethan caught a glimpse of more doodles set among childish but neatly written words. "Nothing earth shattering, although it often seemed so at the time. I've kept a journal almost since the time I learnt to write." He offered it back to Ethan. "You can read it if you'd like."

Ethan took the book back and looked down at it, stroking his fingers over the cover but not opening it. The part of Rupert he'd never known lay inside. "I'll take it downstairs with me when we go, if I may," he said seriously.

"Of course. It's just gathering dust up here."

"I wish I'd known you then," Ethan said again, filled with a strange and piquant angst. It almost seemed more unfair that he'd missed the years of Rupert's childhood than it did the quarter-century of adulthood they'd spent apart.

"So do I," Rupert agreed softly. He reached out and picked up the old penknife. "I wonder how things would have turned out if we had."

"If I'd had you then..." Ethan paused, thinking it through. "Things would have been very different. Chaos would never have got a hold on me."

"And we would have got in trouble regularly for sabotaging fox hunts," Rupert said with a grin, sitting down on the floor.

Ethan chuckled and then sighed. "You would have been forbidden to have anything to do with me, of course."

"A little rebellion might have been good for me."

"Yes. You needed more fun and companionship." Ethan smiled. "And maybe your parents would have taken pity on poor impoverished me, or recognised my innate talents or something, and taken me in to live here with you. And I would have blossomed in a proper family environment to grow up to become a bastion of respectable society. Or at least the partner of one." He winked at Rupert. "And we'd all live happily ever after."

"We're working on that last bit at least." Rupert leant his head back against the wall, his eyes unfocusing. "Judging from the scamp you were in the dream, I feel safe to say that you would have charmed my mother entirely, and my grandmother would have appreciated your spirit." He rested his hand on Giddy's head, absently petting.

Ethan sat down properly, crossing his legs. "I think I would have liked your Gran, had I met her in better circumstances. She seemed very like you: strong and determined, yet full of human feeling."

"She was very much my favourite relative for most of my life," Rupert said. "Save for the time when she was insisting I follow the family destiny when I was doing all I could to run away from it."

Shuffling around on his arse, uncaring of dust, Ethan moved until he was as close to the side of Rupert as this small space would allow. Giddy stirred a little to get out of the way of Ethan's legs. Leaning forward, Ethan kissed Rupert's earlobe, allowing his tongue to play over the Rom earring that Rupert had been wearing almost continually since Christmas. "She kept this for you," he murmured. "And from what you said, she seemed to regret keeping us apart, or at least regret the necessity to do so."

"I'm sure she did." Rupert sighed. "I still wish she hadn't felt the need to meddle, whether for 'my own good' or not."

"But..." Ethan frowned. "Don't you believe what the Coven has told us, that being apart during those years was the only thing that stopped us... that stopped us being like Ian and Derek?"

Rupert shook his head. "I believe if we had continued on blindly, without knowledge of the danger, then yes, we quite likely would have ended up in very dire straights, but if they had deigned to warn us –seriously warn us, and show us the result if we didn't get our acts together– do you really think we wouldn't have made the changes needed?"

"I'm not sure I would have believed them back then." Ethan hung his head. "After all, not even poor Randall was enough to make me take heed."

"You don't think Ian would have been able to...?" Rupert asked, sliding an arm around Ethan's shoulders.

"He wasn't around then. Around us, I mean. You could have made me behave, but I'd have done it through fear of you leaving otherwise, rather than because I really believed that the risks weren't worth the taking."

"That may have been enough at first," Rupert said softly.

Ethan sighed heavily, slumping back against a box. "Rupert, you know what I'm like, what I've always been like. Even now, I'm the one who constantly gets us into trouble. I would have tried to be good in the scenario you propose, but..." It was a big but.

"I think," Rupert said slowly, "that you've been told so often from childhood onwards that you're nothing but trouble, that you have problems seeing yourself in any other light."

There was probably some truth in that, but which had come first, the troublemaker or the reputation? "My Nan used to say it was in my blood, that I was a, um, a topsy-turvy boy. I set things on their heads and then people could see differently. Said people, of course, didn't always appreciate their altered vista."

Rupert visibly considered that before answering. "That's quite an accurate description actually, but you do understand that that's not the same thing as being nothing but trouble, don't you?"

He gave Rupert a wry look. "Trouble follows me, and indeed precedes me and holds me by the hand. You know that. I can't even do something simple like have a pleasant ride in the countryside without acting the fool and stirring up ill feeling."

"I don't know about that. We just got back from a pleasant ride in the countryside, and the only thing stirred up was the power levels on the wards." Rupert reached a hand up, letting his fingers brush lightly through Ethan's hair. "Sometimes, I think, you're like a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"What do you mean?" Ethan asked, moving his head towards Rupert's fingers. "You think I only cause trouble because I'm convinced I will?"

"More like you're convinced everyone thinks you're going to cause trouble so you oblige them. That way you're not being falsely accused." The fingers continued carding through Ethan's hair gently.

"I always try to give people what they want," he replied with a wry chuckle. "Do you think they would have liked each other?" he asked. It hadn't seemed such a wild tangent in his head. "My Nan and your Gran, I mean."

"I think they would have got along famously," Rupert replied with a smile. "Much to the discomfiture of everyone around them."

Ethan smiled too, imagining that. It was a nice thought. He ran his hand over Rupert's leg. "Shall we explore some more? I'm getting a little chilly."

"Of course." Wry humour entered Rupert's voice. "I don't know how long I can sit like this anymore without stiffening up."

"It would be a bit of a squeeze in here," Ethan replied in an innocent tone. "Not to mention the likelihood of boxes tumbling down on us at inopportune moments."

Rupert gave him a startled look. "What?" he said, the word carried on laughter.

"You thought you might be stiffening," Ethan explained with a wink, before rising to his feet. He held out a hand to Rupert.

"One track mind," Rupert mock-grumbled, taking Ethan's hand and letting him pull him to his feet.

"That's entirely your fault," Ethan insisted. Probably because she heard them moving, Skunk suddenly appeared in the small space. She was covered from her head to the tip of her fluffy tail in dusty spider webs. Ethan looked down at her with fond exasperation. "And you take after your master rather too much," he scolded.

Giddy was looking at Skunk with interest. Rupert laid a hand on his dog's head. "Don't you get any ideas," he warned.

Skunk yapped, happy to be the centre of attention, and scrabbled with her paws up Ethan's legs. "Get down," he told her firmly. "No more cuddles for you until you've visited the shower."

"Do I have another shower duet to look forward to?" Rupert teased.

"You could always join us. Giddy too. Why not explore the wonderful world of the outrageous topsy-turvy boy? It's fun!" Laughing, Ethan began to push his way back through to the rest of the attic.

"I don't think our shower is big enough for that much exploration," Rupert chuckled.

His thoughts still lost in their respective childhoods, Ethan decided he'd try to get to the far end of the room, where he'd entered during their shared dream. Before he could try to find a way however, Gwydion pricked his ears and padded off determinedly around a tall stack of shrouded furniture. "Did you ask him to fetch something?" Ethan asked, curious.

Rupert shook his head, frowning as he stepped after his dog. "Gwydion, come here," he called out, but Giddy ignored him.

Skunk yapped seriously at Ethan as if trying very hard to tell him something, and with a sigh, he bent to pick her up, brushing off the worst of the debris in her fur first. Together, they followed Rupert.

Gwydion led them on a long winding trail through the attic before finally sitting down in front of a low sheet-covered object. Pawing at it, he turned and looked at Rupert and barked.

"Do you think Little Timmy has fallen down the well?" Ethan asked, bemused by the dog's behaviour.

"Shall we see?" Rupert asked, moving forward and lifting the sheet up. Underneath, there lay an antique trunk.

"Oh," Ethan breathed. He let Skunk down to the floor and then knelt. "I remember this," he said, running his hands over the lid. "It was full of clothes." He looked up at Rupert with a smile. "We had to open it together, if I remember rightly."

His words shook Rupert out of just staring at the trunk. "In the dream, yes," he said, stepping forward. "I don't know why I'm so shocked to find this here. It's not as if strange foretellings aren't becoming old hat to us."

"Then you haven't seen this trunk before? Apart from in the dream, I mean?" Ethan reached out with his magic sense to investigate the chest, but it wasn't there... He couldn't see it other than with his physical eyes.

"No, I haven't, and I thought I knew all of this place's secrets." Rupert was looking more bemused now than anything.

"It's warded," Ethan told him. "Or made of some special wood that blocks my perceptions, anyhow."

Rupert knelt beside Ethan and ran a hand over the top of the trunk. His fingers followed the filigree there, tracing out initials in the design. "It looks like it was my grandmother's."

Ethan laughed loudly. "Somehow, I can't quite believe that this is coincidence."

"I don't think anyone would." Rupert looked up at him. "Shall we?"

"Together," Ethan said with a broad grin, feeling far more excited than a potentially disastrous box-opening should permit. Skunk barked and bounced around the trunk, and even Giddy was wagging his tail madly, sniffing around the where the lid met the base of the trunk. Together they each put a hand on the latch of the trunk, and together they lifted the lid.

As they did so, there was a whoosh of musty air as if they were breaking the seal on some ancient tomb, and then a surge of magic, which to Ethan's rather too open senses was rather heady. He half-expected to look inside and see a pile of costumes, but that wasn't what the trunk contained.

Books, some of them quite obviously journals, filled the trunk, as well as large, well stuffed manila envelopes, scrolls, wooden boxes, various other small objects –many quite clearly magical– and on the very top a small white envelope addressed to 'Rupert and Ethan'.

Ethan snorted with irrepressible mirth and patted over Rupert's back theatrically. "You know, sometimes I can almost see the strings."

"Yes, it does tend to engender the feeling of being the very last to know about our own lives, doesn't it?" Rupert replied absently as he reached out and picked up the envelope. "That's my grandmother's writing."

"I assumed as much. Are you going to open it?" Assuming an answer in the affirmative, Ethan turned and sat down with his back to the chest. Skunk immediately jumped onto his lap, and Ethan was so dust-covered himself by now that he let her.

"That would be the best way to find out what's in it." Still Rupert just stared at the envelope.

"Dearheart?" Ethan asked gently, stroking his hand up Rupert's arm. "May I assume that you're not sure you want to know what's in it?"

Rupert gave a half-shrug. "I've never held with the saying 'ignorance is bliss', but I find myself strangely reluctant to find out what my grandmother knew. Rather silly, isn't it?"

"No, not at all." Ethan tugged a little on Rupert's arm. "Come down here and sit with me. We don't have to open it yet. Let's just talk about it."

With a faint smile and a sigh, Rupert complied, leaning against the chest beside Ethan.

Ethan moved close and put his hand on Rupert's leg, squeezing comfortingly. "We are not obliged to do anything with this you know. We could put it back in the trunk, close it up and never come up here again."

Rupert gave a small laugh at that. "I doubt there is anything more guaranteed to drive me crazy than not knowing when the knowledge is within my reach." He shook his head. "Which leaves me rather in a catch-22 situation here, doesn't it? I want to know, but I don't want to know." He reached out and stroked Gwydion's coat, the dog having settled down beside them. "What it all boils down to I guess is that I don't want to find out something that would destroy my memory of my grandmother."

"What might do that?" Ethan asked. "Let's get the worse possible scenario out in the open."

"Worst possible scenario? That would be finding out that she knew all along and manipulated me without my knowledge or care of what I would go through." Rupert gave a rueful smile. "In other words, that she treated me like the Council used to advocate treating the Slayer. My grandmother was always the one who encouraged me to think of the Slayer as a person first, weapon second, no matter what Council tradition said. I don't want to find out that belief didn't apply to me as well."

Ethan nodded. "Well, we can knock that one on the head for a start."

"She sent you away."

"Because if she hadn't, one or both of us would have died. I know you don't believe that would've happened, but I..." Ethan paused and looked down. "I have no argument with that conjecture of the Coven's."

"It wasn't her decision to make," Rupert continued stubbornly. "She should've given me –us– all the information and then trusted us to make the right choice. Even if we couldn't have been together then, things would have been so different if we had just known it was only temporary."

"No." Ethan wasn't sure how he knew this, but it felt like fact to him. "We weren't strong enough then. Not in any sense. Doc killed Derek, Rupert. Do you really believe I could have protected you, had he gone after you in turn?"

"I'm not exactly without defences of my own, you know."

"Neither were they."

"If we had known we wouldn't have spent two decades sniping at each other. If we had known..." Rupert hesitated then continued with a sigh. "You wouldn't have changed me into a fyarl demon, and I wouldn't have let the Initiative have you."

"Those things were necessary," Ethan said stubbornly, holding onto that belief like a life belt.

Rupert didn't answer, but his expression remained troubled.

"Rupert, I..." Ethan scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to separate his genuine intuitive convictions from his emotions. It was no easy task. He sighed. "I can understand why you're unhappy. Truly, I can. All your life you've been steered by a suffocating destiny, which you've alternately rebelled against and submitted to, until you found a more or less comfortable compromise. To find your life has been even less free than you'd thought must be... disturbing."

It was different for Ethan. While many aspects of this destiny they shared scared him, on the whole he rather liked being the subject of prophecy. It meant that he had significance, that he wasn't just a troublesome nobody fated only for oblivion. It meant that he had Rupert, who he didn't believe he would have without both the destined link and the prophecy caretakers. And yes, said caretakers probably had counted Rupert's grandmother amongst their numbers.

"You see those in the know about our destiny as obstacles keeping us apart," Ethan continued quietly. "I see them as people who have done everything in their power to make sure we can be together. Now, obviously, they've done this so that we can fulfil the prophecy and save the world, but I don't care about their reasons. I care only that, thanks to them, we are together."

Rupert leant over and kissed him, sliding a hand to the nape of Ethan's neck to hold him in place while he did so. "I never lose sight of that, that we are together now. That's the most important thing, and I never forget that or take it for granted. It's just..." He sighed, obviously searching for the right words. "If destiny's the path laid out for you, it's damned hard to walk it or avoid it if you don't know it's there."

Ethan stroked Rupert's face, tracing the lines there. "Haven't you ever had to send the children blind into somewhere because it's safer for them that way?"

"Actually holding things back from Buffy and the others never turned out well," Rupert said wryly.

"But you tried at times?"

"At times. You were there the first time, when Eyghon came back."

Ugh. Ethan screwed his face up. "Ah. I seem to remember doing my best to undo all your good obfuscation work at the time. I'm sorry."

Rupert waved the apology off. "Considering it was Willow who came up with the way of defeating him, it was a good thing the obfuscation didn't work."

Ethan really didn't want to talk about that time anymore, especially after his slightly tense telephone conversation with Buffy earlier during which he'd had to rather forcefully remind her not to shoot the sodding messenger. She had been understandably unhappy to hear about the attack on Dawn, and the tentatively revealed possibility that the Key was part of their prophecy had pleased even less.

He returned to the original subject. "Your Gran always steered your life. Even before you discovered this box and intuited her knowledge of the prophecy, you already knew she did that, so that hasn't changed. But you also knew she loved you, and rightly or wrongly tried to do what she thought was best for you. I don't believe that's changed either."

"You're right," Rupert conceded. "I just... I don't like to think that for love of me she cast you out to the wolves."

Ethan shrugged. "If I can forgive her, can't you?" It helped that Ethan believed that Rupert's grandmother had, by her actions, stopped Rupert becoming just another fatality of the war against dark Chaos, much like Derek had been, and looking at it that way, it was very easy to forgive the woman.

"I don't have much choice, do I?"

"Of course you have a choice," Ethan pushed Skunk gently from his lap and twisted around. He wrapped his arms around Rupert and held him. "To loosely quote someone much wiser than me, we seem to have little choice in the larger aspects of our lives currently, but that doesn't mean that we're helpless slaves to fate."

Rupert chuckled, and Ethan could feel his mood lightening. "That does sound very familiar somehow."

"I like to quote the great mystics when I can." Ethan kissed Rupert's cheek. "Now, would it be easier for you to be on your own when you open it?" As they both knew he was going to.

"It's addressed to both of us," Rupert pointed out, looking down at the envelope then sliding a finger along the flap to open it. All four of them –two humans, two dogs– sat in almost reverent silence as he slid out several sheets of ivory notepaper, each covered in a neat, old-fashioned handwriting.

Rupert cleared his throat, and began reading aloud...


	6. Chapter 6

_My dear boys,_

_You must forgive me for referring to you so. I know that, by the time you read this, you will be of a similar age to the woman I was when I first heard of these matters. That is, presuming everything has gone to plan. God help us all if it has not._

_To me, you shall always be boys, innocent in the face of appalling danger and horribly vulnerable to it. By now, you should know something of the forces that threaten you and something of the task it is your destiny to perform, if you can survive the enemy's earnest desire for you not to do so._

_I am so very sorry._

_I have done what I can over the years to shield you from the things that you lacked the strength and maturity to withstand. Would that I could have saved you from it altogether, but that was not possible. You are who you are, and I can no more change your destiny than I could that of a Slayer._

_Children, all of you, and yet we rely on you to save us all._

_To protect you, I have had to be stern, and at times, cruel. I have angered Rupert and hurt Ethan. You both deserve an explanation for what has been done to you, and so I shall attempt one._

_When Rupert was ten, I was approached by the Devonshire Coven. I was told that my grandson, in all his delightful intelligence and innocence, was actually one half of the latest pair of potential 'Guardians of Balance' – innately talented mages destined to go up against the forces of Vaurtain. The name meant nothing to me then, of course._

_I tried to ignore the alarming tidings as no more than crackpot prognostication, but the Coven was persistent. In particular, a young and rather fierce witch named Lucy Harkness was repeatedly sent to me. She was very direct, a quality I could appreciate, and what she revealed scared me. By the time you withdrew from Oxford, Rupert, I was not only convinced by the Coven's prophecies, but also rather more knowledgeable about the threat you both face._

_Rupert had, of course, gone to London to be with you, Ethan. The pair of you were no more able to keep apart than two attracting magnets, and yet it fell to me to come between you. You were far too young to survive attracting the attention of Vaurtain's many minions._

_Everything that was so wonderful about youth endangered you: innocence, arrogance, that devil may care attitude which stems from a healthy mind and body and an absolute faith in your own shining future. Only old men, toughened by life's scars and with the jaded wisdom that stems from many downfalls, could hope to succeed where so many others had failed._

_That is what the Coven told me, and I believed them. They told me stories, you see, of the pairs who had preceded you. Tragic, heartbreaking tales. In each example, the children had found each other too soon, and Chaos found them also. I met a survivor of one sundered pair, his partner destroyed when they had been little more than boys. He was half a man, barely alive. I was assured he was healing, but I saw no signs of it._

_I couldn't let that happen to you two._

_And yet, for a while, I risked just that. Because I knew my grandson, and it was essential he came back to the fold of his own accord. Trying to force you back, my dear, would have only resulted in you staying away longer. We both know that. So I played a dangerous game with your lives, ready to move in on a moment's notice from the Coven seer, but letting you be together for as long as I could._

_When that poor boy died of the possession (and had I known you were playing such dangerous games, I would have intervened regardless), I had my chance. I was determined, for both your sakes, that there would be no reconciliation between you._

_I took Rupert to meet the Coven, which allowed the seer, Keri, to see further and deeper. Not that you knew what we were up to, my poor lad._

_I betrayed you both._

_As any Watcher knows, it sometimes behoves the dutiful servant to do the unthinkable in order to protect those who need protecting. For the sake of the world, and of two young men who deserved a chance at something close to a normal life, I did what I had to._

_I steered you, Rupert, firmly into your 'destiny' with the Council as that seemed the best way to prepare you for your true destiny. And you, Ethan, I kept from your fated partner. I did try to keep an eye on you, but you moved so far and so fast that I lost track. Possibly, I didn't try as hard as I could have to find you again. I was disturbed by what you were doing with your life. You seemed to be handing yourself to the enemy, but the Coven assured me that, if the two of you remained apart until the appointed time, you would both live to see it and any corruption would be reversible. I could do nothing but trust in their word._

_I hope to the highest powers that I was right to do so._

_At the time I write this, I know my remaining days are numbered few. You are, both of you, ever present in my thoughts. For all that I believe my actions necessary and unavoidable, I still see the tear-stained faces of two young men when I close my eyes. I won't ask for forgiveness; that would be unfair of me. I deserve whatever guilt is mine, and I took it on willingly and knowingly._

_Rupert, this trunk contains all my private journals, which I bequeath to you. Whilst much of my writing, especially that dating from before you were born, may hold little interest for you, those journals written since the Coven first approached me may provide information useful for your current battle. There are also spells, documents and other bits and pieces that could prove pertinent._

_Know that I loved you, and my dearest hope was that you will be able one day to find peace and contentment with your fated partner._

_Ethan, you damn near broke my resolve when you arrived outside my house that Christmas, and I know I broke your heart; I saw it the moment it happened. I am so very sorry. For what it's worth, I approve of you for my grandson, above and beyond any prophesised destiny. Rupert, if you don't already realise, the silver earring left for you with my solicitor was a gift from Ethan that I intercepted._

_For you, Ethan, I have in way of a partial apology, a gift that is pure fun. Because even during war, it behoves one to make the most of one's times with those one loves. Look in the box with the theatre masks carved into the lid._

_My boys, I find myself at a loss for a way to conclude this last communication between us, and so forgive me this rather terse goodbye, if nothing else._

_Your servant,_

_Harriet Giles._

When he finished reading, Giles fell silent, although his grandmother's words seemed to echo in his head. He wasn't sure quite yet how he felt about her revelations. Still, he was acutely aware of Ethan sitting at his side watching him, not to mention both their dogs sitting so attentively nearby, and so he made an effort to speak. Tracing the writing with a finger as if that would make his feelings clearer, he began, "Well..." but ran out of words with that.

"Yes," Ethan replied, in a voice both sympathetic and perhaps a little awed. "Yes."

"She knew everything. Even before we met."

Ethan shook himself, the movement travelling through both of them, and then tightened his arms around Giles. There was a touch of soft lips on Giles' cheek then Ethan murmured with gentle humour, "Shall we go for a walk, my fated lover? Perhaps we need the ground beneath our feet currently."

Physical movement could be good. Perhaps it would encourage his thoughts to move beyond the fact that his grandmother had known. Giles nodded and stood, putting the letter inside his jacket pocket for now. He held out his hand to Ethan. With the dogs, who remained strangely subdued, they left the attic and slipped downstairs. Somehow, they managed to avoid seeing anyone on their way through the house. Giles suspected Ethan was using his pattern senses to take them on an unpopulated route.

"I'm not angry at her," Giles said, finding it true as he said it. "With everything she'd been taught, everything she believed, she wouldn't think of seeing a way around a prophecy."

"Watcher brainwashing," Ethan commented, holding open the front door. "Head left for the trees, dearheart."

"She didn't have a Buffy proving time and again that with the right mixture of irreverence and improvisation you can turn prophecy on its ear." That was the crux of Giles' trouble accepting the necessity of what had been done to him and Ethan. He knew what could be achieved when you thought outside the box. Prophecy could be changed. He'd seen it happen.

Ethan led him through the meadows that surrounded the wooded area of the estate, the dogs running around ahead of them, poking into everything. Hopefully they'd snapped out of whatever had been quieting them. "I'm glad you're not angry with her," Ethan said, his voice calm. "It would have hurt you to feel like that about her."

"It's difficult to be angry when you understand someone's thoughts."

There was a pause, which allowed Giles to take in the pleasant winter's day. It was almost spring-like, warm and with a promise for new growth on the way. Ethan snorted beside him, then said, "It's a funny thing..."

Giles glanced sideways. "What is?"

Ethan spoke slowly. "What's always bothered me about this prophecy business is how it seemed to imply that the way we feel for each other isn't real. As if it were a fabrication of the destiny, much like poor Dawn's life history. But I've been thinking, or at least, your Gran has prodded some thoughts my way. A parent –a real parent, and not my sorry specimens– cannot help loving their child. It's a matter of hormones and genetics, I suppose, but this lack of choice doesn't make the love any less real, any less intense... Does it?"

"It's always seemed more of a chicken or the egg situation to me," Giles said, after mulling that over. "I don't think we can ever know if we're meant to be together because we have this destiny, or that we have this destiny because we're meant to be together. Not that it makes much difference in the end which came first."

Ethan shrugged. "I love you. I don't care why anymore so long as you love me back. And I like your grandmother rather a lot. I like that she cared what happened to me, whatever her reasons, but I'm not sure my reaction is what matters here. If you're not feeling angry, how are you feeling?"

How was he feeling? Giles frowned. "That seems to be the problem. I don't know."

"I suspect it will take some days for it to really sink in." Ethan squeezed his hand. "Perhaps we should concentrate on more practical matters, dearheart. Your Gran mentioned a name for what we face – Vaurtain. And she called us the 'Guardians of Balance'. Any pertinent thoughts to share about all that?"

Turning his mind as directed to the practical side of this instead of the emotional, Giles looked at the new information with a trained Watcher's eye. "I've never heard of Vaurtain, but it's always easier to track something when you have a name. A new clue to research is never a bad thing. As for being the 'Guardians of Balance'..." He mulled that over. "Natural chaos and natural order working together. It fits. And we've certainly been called worse."

Ethan chuckled. "For certain. The word 'balance' only strengthens my convictions about Dawn's involvement in this, you know."

"The fact that she was targeted was a rather large signpost to that effect as well."

"Obviously. What I meant was not her involvement in general, but more how she'll be involved."

Giles gave Ethan a curious look, encouraging him to elaborate.

In return, he received a sheepish grimace. Ethan seemed almost embarrassed. "I think I told you before what it is I believe her to be, the Logos. That tool which allowed the introduction of Chaos in to perfect order, so kick-starting time and allowing for life to eventually develop – do you remember?"

He did; it was just after he had come home soaked in dark Chaos energy from touching that bag they'd taken from the dark Chaos Mage. "The Logos is what brought Chaos and Order together and kept them in... balance. Ah, yes. So being Guardians of Balance would mean we're Guardians of the Key?"

"You have successfully completed Grade One Chaos Mysteries. Your certificate is in the post."

Giles chuckled. "I'm sure Grandmother would be very pleased."

"Good. I'd like to please her." Which seemed a somewhat uncharacteristic Ethan statement.

"You haven't said how you felt about the letter," Giles prodded gently.

"Yes, I did," Ethan argued. "Well, perhaps not in so many words. It made me happy."

Giles thought he understood. "That she accepted you."

Ethan nodded. "More than that though. She cared. For whatever reason, she cared."

"She's not the only one, you know," Giles said softly.

Ethan paused them by an old stone wall and drew Giles a little hesitantly into his arms. Nearby the puppies played rambunctiously, the occasional deep wuff or lighter yap punctuation to their games. "I think I rather care for the Giles' genes," Ethan said softly.

Giles wrapped his arms around Ethan in turn. "Even the ones who hunt?" he teased.

That got him a rueful look. "I could see how Matthew could be attractive to a certain type," Ethan admitted grudgingly.

"Just not you."

Ethan frowned deeply. "I don't fancy your sodding cousin, Rupert. Would you really want me to? He's good looking enough, but lacks... lacks the things I like in a man."

"And what would those things be exactly?"

Now Ethan smiled. He moved closer to speak directly into Giles' ear, his voice low. "Subtlety, a sharp intelligence, hmm... gentleness at times, but great firmness and authority at others; nobility and strength, courage and kindness; a sensitive, creative underbelly, and, oh yes, a cock that makes me want to drop to my knees and beg to be allowed to take it into my mouth."

Giles' body reacted predictably to that last comment. He smiled. "Beg?" he asked. Or perhaps bade.

Ethan pulled back and raised an eyebrow. "Here?" He seemed quite willing.

"Or back at the house," Giles said, quite willing to move this... conversation somewhere warmer.

"Warm wouldn't hurt," Ethan admitted, although he leant in as if to kiss Giles, hesitating at the last moment to say with a smug, sultry smile, "Please." Giles chuckled and closed the remaining distance to taste Ethan's lips.

***

Later that evening, Ethan noticed Megan was missing from the large room with the television where the others had gathered. Rupert was deep in serious conversation with Matthew to one side, and while Ethan was trying to be pleasant with Rupert's cousin, he felt joining in the conversation could lead to too much temptation to be otherwise. So he called his puppy to heel and, smiling reassuringly at Rupert, left the room.

"Where's Megan?" he asked Skunk quietly. "Lead me to Megan, my bundle of furry joy."

Skunk lifted her head as if scenting the air, then took off in the direction of the kitchen.

They found Megan, not in the kitchen, but in the quiet and rather under-furnished room beside it . It had presumably been the servants' dining room in the bad old days. Appropriately, Megan was supping on a bowl of what looked to be minestrone soup, dipping hunks of crusty bread into it.

As Skunk padded happily over to the girl, giving a single yap as if to say 'found her', Ethan smiled and asked, "Finally found yourself the mythical Slayer appetite?"

"Making up for missing lunch," she replied with a smile of her own. "Got too caught up with the horses, and time ran away from me."

Ah. As Rupert and Ethan had also had staggered meals today, he hadn't realised. Ethan pulled out another chair from under the heavy and unpolished wooden table. "May I join you, sweetheart?"

"Sure, but you'll need to get your own soup." Megan wrapped her arm around the bowl and mock-glared at Ethan.

Ethan sat down. "I'm not hungry, but I'd watch that mangy mongrel of mine." Skunk was sitting at Megan's feet, her eyes firmly fixed to Megan's spoon as it moved between bowl and mouth.

Megan smiled. "You'd think you never feed her."

"She probably gets more of my food than I do, not to mention her own. Still, she gets plenty of exercise." He looked at his puppy with wry fondness before putting his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his knuckles, blatantly studying Megan.

Megan paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. "What?"

Laughing, Ethan leant back. "How are you doing, Megan? We haven't had a chance to talk properly since the attack."

"I'm okay," she said with a shrug, looking down at her soup. "Life of a Slayer and all that."

He folded his arms and gave her a stern look. "I know you can do better than that."

"I really am okay," Megan insisted. "But... maybe I miss the place on Mountbatten."

Lowering his gaze briefly, Ethan nodded. "It was our home."

"Yeah."

"It's nice to know I'm not the only one calling in homesick, but still, there's a lot here for you."

That earned him a smile. "I know. It's totally cool here. It's like living in one of those PBS dramas, and it's a lot more defensible than where we were. There's no other houses they can sneak into to get at us."

"The attack must have been frustrating for you," he said cautiously. "There being nothing physical to fight."

Megan gave another half-shrug, although she didn't seem to be too disturbed. "A little, but you and Giles were there. I knew you could handle it. My chance to fight will come."

"And that's something you want?" Ethan often wondered about the Slayer instincts. He knew they existed, and indeed saw frequent evidence for them, but he didn't know their extent. Were they like the urge to use magic if you had it?

She seemed to give that serious thought before answering. "I don't want to fight just for the sake of fighting, but when there's a battle that needs to be waged, then yeah, I want to be the one to wage it."

He nodded, remembering their fight against the fairy creatures in Hyde Park. "I certainly feel safer with you providing the sword to my sorcery." He decided to broach a difficult subject, one he hadn't really even discussed with Rupert yet. "Especially now that the other side has Slayers too."

"I feel sorry for them," Megan said softly. "They can't be getting the kind of training and support we have."

"Hmm." Ethan considered that. "I think they may _think_ they are. Unless Frannie has found a way to mind-wipe them, which would drastically reduce their efficiency as weapons, she will have to resort to other means to keep them on her side. I imagine some cult-style psychological techniques may be being employed to give a sense of community and unbreakable loyalty, much as in any other terrorist group."

"That's what I mean. Miss Travers never saw us as people. She won't have their best interests at heart, not like you and Giles."

"No, she won't. A fact that disturbs Rupert greatly and may–" He sighed. "If we are attacked by Slayers, I can foresee problems beyond the fact that they are formidable opponents."

Megan nodded soberly. "They're not our real enemies, but if they attack, we won't have a choice."

"Quite. I, um... Well, it wouldn't necessarily be a brilliant idea to tell Rupert why you're doing it, but perhaps if you and Kat could spend extra time sparring with each other while we're here?"

"Kat and I have already talked about doing that."

He smiled at her approvingly. "I see you don't need me at all. Good, sensible girls."

She smiled back. "We've had good teachers."

"I am sorry about all this, you know. Apart from anything else, our plans for improving your social life have now come to a grinding halt."

"It's okay." Megan shrugged, looking down at Skunk. "I don't think I was ready even if we weren't away from home."

"Oh, Meglet." Ethan reached out to put his hand on hers. "You were ready. Because if you let that aptly named bitch send you back into hiding then you may never come out again. "

"I'm not hiding," she protested. "I just... I'm not trying to... force it."

"Well, it's all a moot point now, I suppose. Until we get–" Ethan stopped talking as a scraping noise outside the room was followed by the appearance of Giddy, who was carrying what looked like a riding crop in his mouth as if it were a bone. As Ethan and Megan watched, the big dog took his prize into a corner of their room, hunkered down, and started to gnaw upon it.

From elsewhere in the house, they heard a shout.

Megan looked thoughtfully at Giddy. "This feels very familiar. Though at least this time he grabbed something that doesn't leave a trail of papers behind him."

"Hmm," Ethan said, trying relatively hard not to snigger. "It seems we may have been a little premature when we declared the leather fetish a passing fad of canine infancy."

Heavy footfalls were coming down the corridor as Gwydion made happy chewing noises. The footfalls stopped outside, pausing for a second before the door opened wider and admitted Rupert and his cousin. "Gwydion," Rupert said sternly.

"Oh dear." Matthew looked with concern at what had obviously been his riding crop.

The wolfhound seemed conflicted. His ears were down and posture submissive, but he wasn't giving up his chew-toy. Skunk padded over and sat down beside the larger dog, her head to one side as she panted, watching him with apparent interest. Ethan put his hand over his mouth to hide his grin and tried to look innocent. It was not a guise he had any expertise with.

"Gwydion," Rupert repeated in the same stern voice, holding out a hand to the dog for the riding crop. Giddy whined, but he stood and carried the crop over for Rupert to take from his mouth. Skunk yapped loudly.

"Come here, menace," Ethan told her. "Don't interfere." Obediently, she scampered back to his side, jumping for his lap. He could almost have accused his puppy of a certain self-aware smugness as she submitted enthusiastically to a petting.

Rupert took the crop back from Gwydion. "You know better than this," he told his dog. "You don't steal things from members of the household." Giddy hung his head and whined again, looking thoroughly dejected.

"Sorry about that, Matthew," Ethan said. "I'm afraid my dog is the good one."

"Only when it comes to leather." Rupert turned to Matthew. "You may want to keep a tight hold on your socks around Skunk however."

Ethan stuck his tongue out at Rupert as Matthew said, "I'll bear that in mind." He looked over his riding crop with obvious dismay, but said only, "Missed having dogs around the place."

"I can assure you, there won't be a repeat of this with Gwydion," Rupert told him, leaning down to pet the dog. "He's very good at following the rules. It's just where there are loopholes that we get into trouble."

Giddy responded well to the petting and wuffed twice. Once at Rupert, once at Matthew, who laughed. "Almost as if the scamp is apologising."

"You'll get used to it," Ethan told him with a chuckle.

"Maybe you should get Giddy a leather chew toy," Megan put in. "If he has his own maybe he won't want to steal others?"

"Good, sensible girl," Ethan repeated, beaming at Megan as he stood. He walked over to Rupert, Skunk still in his arms. "Well, I believe there's just enough time for a brandy and a quick tease of Xander before it's time for bed. Shall we?"

"The brandy, certainly," Rupert replied, straightening up and sliding an arm around Ethan's waist.

Ethan caught Matthew's eye and said in his best 'innocent' voice, "Rupert's scared of Kat, you see."

"Good night, Matthew," Rupert said quickly and steered Ethan out of the room with alacrity. 'Not at all outrageous?' he asked Ethan once they were in the corridor.

"Not even slightly," he answered, grinning proudly.


	7. Chapter 7

It wasn't until late the next morning that Ethan finally found the time alone to sneak back to the attic. He had left Rupert's childhood journal up there and wanted to reclaim it, but that wasn't the only reason he was drawn back up the narrow staircase. Without the dogs or Rupert to guide him, it took him a little while to locate the trunk within the forest of crates and furniture, but with the seal broken, he could now sense the magical items it held, so he was able eventually to find a way through the jumble to get to it.

He knelt and hesitated before lifting the lid; why, he wasn't sure. Taking a deep breath, he then opened the trunk.

The smell of the old books and papers was sensual and exciting; he doubted there were many mystics who didn't respond that way to that particular scent. He ran his hand lightly over the surface of the top items, sensing magic in some, nothing but age in others. It wasn't hard to find what he was looking for. Ever since Rupert had read out his grandmother's letter yesterday, a part of Ethan's mind had been nagging him to find the gift she had bequeathed him.

It was hard to explain, even in the privacy of his own mind, why this meant so much to him, but it had nonetheless touched him deeply that she should have done this. The box was long and flat, rather like a box of chocolates in shape. It was carved from a wood stained dark with some resin. Carved into the top, and inlaid with gold leaf or paint, were the masks of comedy and tragedy, the symbols of the Theatre.

He lifted it from the trunk and let his hand rest on the lid for a long time, his eyes shut. The box contained magic, that much was obvious, and relatively powerful magic at that. And yet Harriet Giles had claimed that this gift was for 'fun'. Hmm.

Deciding to take his treasure back down to the bedroom, Ethan stood, savouring the delay. After collecting Rupert's notebook from where he had left it, he turned the lights off and went back downstairs. Skunk found him briefly as he reached the bedroom door, but he sent her downstairs with a mental command to find Megan and stay with her for a while. He wanted to be on his own for this for some reason.

Shutting the bedroom door behind him, Ethan went, after a moment's indecision, to the window seat. He paused with his hand on the lid for another few seconds, teasing himself as he would a lover. Then he pushed the 'S' catch aside. A waft of oriental perfume hit his nostrils as he lifted the lid, causing them to flare as he breathed in heavily. Inside there was... makeup?

Yes, the inside of the box held many compartments carved apparently into solid wood. Each held compacts of powders and creams - dark, rich colours, shimmering with metallic overtones, and to his magic sense, glittering like a starfield with enchantment.

Oh, glory be.

Attached to the inside of the lid was a magnifying mirror in an ornate brass frame, and a small metal plaque engraved with the words, 'For Ethan Rayne, in the way of apology and in the spirit of the wild.'

Unable to help himself, Ethan danced a fingertip over a translucent paste the colour of crushed plums and then spread it over his lower lip. He felt an immediate and unmistakable physical response to the touch. Hesitantly, he stuck his tongue out to taste the cosmetic on his lip; it was sweet and spicy. As he moved his tongue in his mouth to investigate the flavour further, he felt another powerful surge of something that he found it hard to believe that Rupert's grandmother had intended.

He painted his top lip; his mouth glistened provocatively at him in the mirror as he pouted. He blew himself a kiss.

 _'Rupert,'_ he sent. When last he'd seen his husband, Rupert had been engaged in deep Council-related conversation with Pamela and Xander. Perhaps that had concluded by now.

 _'Yes?'_ came Rupert's reply, somewhat distracted.

 _'What are you up to, dearheart?'_ Ethan's mental tone was both amused and sultry. He licked his finger clean of the dark purple gloss and dried it on his trousers before smearing across a coppery powder.

_'Research. Pamela brought some volumes from Council Headquarters that may have some references to Vaurtain.'_

_'That can wait, can't it?'_ He drew lines of red-gold around the outer edges of his eyes. Something happened to his face in the mirror; it seemed to shimmer like a heat haze before settling, and suddenly his eyes were perfectly made up in an Eastern fashion, halfway between Hindu god and Rudolph Valentino in The Sheik. _'Oh yes, I think it can wait.'_

 _'What are you up to, love?'_ Ethan could sense Rupert's curiosity through their link.

 _'Come and find me?'_ Using a different finger, Ethan applied a shimmering bronze to his cheekbones.

Rupert hesitated, and Ethan could tell he was weighing the import of research against his curiosity, but finally, as Ethan had known he would, Rupert sent, _'All right.'_

 _'Good man.'_ Ethan was somewhat distracted himself, his face having taken on the appearance of an exquisite Oberon-like creature. His cock was rock hard in his trousers and his breath heavy. _'I'd hurry if I were you'_ , he sent as he stood and carefully removed his shirt and jumper.

Rupert didn't reply, but as Ethan was just finishing a freehand daubing of his arms and chest, the bedroom door opened, and Rupert walked in.

Ethan turned to face him, knowing he looked quite incredible: half-naked, his cock hard beneath his half-open trousers, all available skin shimmering like peacock feathers. He looked up at Rupert from below his brow and slowly smiled.

Rupert stared. "Ethan, wha–?"

Ethan covered his fingertips in a green-gold powder and put the box down. He stalked towards Rupert. "Like?"

"You look..." Rupert seemed a bit stunned as his eyes followed Ethan's progress across the room.

When he was close enough, Ethan reached out with his hand and smeared antique gold tiger stripes diagonally across Rupert's face, laughing with delight as the glamour took effect and Rupert became something fey and yet unarguably masculine – Herne the Hunter perhaps or Cernunnous. "Taste me," Ethan commanded.

Eyes still staring, Rupert leant in and licked at Ethan's lips gingerly. Ethan just smiled and waited. He heard Rupert's soft gasp, and when he pulled back, Rupert's eyes were even wider, darker. Made all the more wild by the glamour on his face. "What is that?"

"That is my present from your grandmother." He laughed again; he couldn't help it. This was just too good. "Take your shirt off."

"My grandmother gave you..." Rupert trailed off into a disbelieving laugh as he shook his head. "I never would have expected it of her."

"Take your shirt off, my fated lover," Ethan repeated quietly. With a bemused smile, Rupert finally obeyed. Ethan moved forward and smeared the rest of the green across Rupert's chest, moaning softly as the chest hair became golden. He painted around one of Rupert's nipples, gilding it, and watching Rupert's face as he did so. "Remember back in the old bedsit? Remember that birthday of mine?"

Rupert nodded, eyes distant with memory. "We never did make it out of the flat."

Lifting his fingers back to Rupert's face, Ethan pressed them gently to his lips. "Do you want to see yourself, Ripper? See how beautiful you are?"

"I'm sure it couldn't hold a candle to you," Rupert told him, before running his tongue provocatively over and around Ethan's fingers.

Ethan found he was swaying in response, his eyes hooded. "You are a candle," he said in a low voice. "A golden candle, and I'm the moth that can't stay out of your flame."

"So dangerous, am I?"

"Your flame doesn't hurt me. It embraces me, fulfils me... come and see yourself." Ethan tugged at Rupert's arm with his free hand. "Please." Rupert smiled at him and let Ethan pull him along.

Ethan felt lifted up somehow, high, but not distant. Everything was in vivid focus and appeared glorious. He dragged Rupert to the freestanding mirror by the wardrobe and stood him in front of it. He intended to make some smug comment as Rupert was inevitably gobsmacked by the sight of his reflection, but Ethan's own reflection stopped the words before they made it past his painted lips. The two of them were unworldly and exquisite, kings of Arcadia. No one could see them and not fall to their knees.

Ethan whimpered.

"Old men," Rupert murmured thoughtfully, raising a hand towards the glass.

That broke a little way through Ethan's entrancement, and he looked at Rupert with alarm. "Old? What do you see?"

"That's what my grandmother said in her letter, remember? 'Only old men, toughened by life's scars and with the jaded wisdom that stems from many downfalls, could hope to succeed where so many others had failed'." Rupert shook his head, still staring at their reflections. "I don't see any old men here."

Relieved, and not at all surprised that Rupert could quote so exactly from the letter, Ethan looked back at the mirror, only to be entranced again. "I see immortals."

"I see..." Rupert trailed off thoughtfully. "Beauty as ephemeral as the next breath." He chuckled and ducked his head with a tiny self-effacing laugh. "Listen to me. I sound like a besotted..."

"A besotted what?" Ethan murmured. He turned and put his hands on Rupert's belt. "Let me do all of you?"

"Will you do yourself as well?" Rupert's eyes were bright with anticipation.

A charge of arousal hit Ethan, so sharp it weakened his knees, and he had to briefly clutch at Rupert's shoulder for support. The thought of them both naked and wearing a magical glamour from head to toe was almost too much.

But not actually _too_ much.

"Stay here," he said urgently, turning and making a dash around the bed for the window seat, where he'd left the wooden box of cosmetic delights.

Rupert chuckled, having turned and watched Ethan's dash across the room. "Don't drop anything."

Ethan grabbed the box and hurried back. He held it open for Rupert to read the plaque and noticed that the compartments of colour showed no sign that he'd ever touched them. That, he had to presume, was another part of the substantial magic imbued in his gift; it would never run out. "Doesn't much look like a goose, does it?" he asked with a laugh.

"I'll start to worry then if it produces golden eggs."

"Well, it is, in a way. That's us. Whenever we want for as long as we want." Ethan put the box down on the sill of the small window on this side of the bed and returned his hands to Rupert's belt. "So may I?"

"I put myself completely in your hands," Rupert said formally.

Ethan leant forward to kiss Rupert, noting how the cosmetics somehow tasted different, earthier, from Rupert's skin. As they shared a slow, sensual kiss, he undid Rupert's belt and trousers, letting them fall. He slipped his hands under the waistband of the soft grey boxers and persuaded them to follow the trousers. Rupert reached out and began to return the favour.

The whole of Ethan was buzzing, alive with sensation. He stepped from his fallen clothes and moved against Rupert, confident nothing would smudge. "Christ, I needed this." Something intense, something good, an antidote to the fear and anxiety of the last few days.

Rupert's hands slid around Ethan's waist then down over his buttocks, squeezing them as he devoured Ethan's mouth. He pulled back before Ethan could lose himself entirely. "Finish the makeup?"

Ethan blinked, the words only making sense after a second or so, but then the urgency he'd felt before the kiss reasserted itself. He grinned a little raggedly and stepped back, turning to get the box from the window. "Who first?"

"You," Rupert replied after a moment's thought, adding with a wicked smile, "You tend to get distracted when you make me up. And I want a chance to see the full picture."

Looking around, Ethan's eyes fell on the wooden chair near the bathroom. He handed Rupert the box while he dashed over to fetch it. After a moment's consideration, he placed the chair between the mirror and Rupert, gently pushing Rupert back a couple of steps for a better arrangement. "There. A stage for the show." He winked, before finding himself drifting off into distraction again at the sight of Rupert and his prominent arousal. "My horned god," Ethan murmured; then he giggled.

"Generally when referring to horned gods, the horns are located further up," Rupert teased.

"Looks pretty 'up' to me," Ethan replied automatically, but his gaze was now locked to Rupert's erection, imagining what it would look like with a burnished shimmer. "Can't I just...?" He began to reach out.

Rupert stepped back out of easy reach. "You first."

All right. He could wait. Ethan held his hand out to take the box back and then stood to the side of the chair, lifting a leg onto it. He looked into the box and chose a dark glittering blue that he hadn't yet tried. Pressing his finger upon it, the flat surface crumbled, revealing it to be a soft waxy paste. Leanning down, he began to sculpt his foot with the colour. On skin, it transformed to a midnight indigo studded with twinkling stars.

He heard Rupert make an approving sound. "Ankle deep in the night sky, I see."

"Does that make me the sky god to your earth god?" Ethan continued the night sky to mid-thigh and then moved to a fiery red colour, expecting, and getting, vivid flames and sparkles as he moved to the top of his leg and up his buttock and hip.

"You could be." Rupert tilted his head to the side as he considered the question and Ethan. "More a moon god than a sun god though I think."

"Sin," Ethan said, referring to the Babylonian moon god. He smirked as he started on his other leg. "It seems appropriate."

"Indeed. You've always been a temptation to sin for me."

"Some rules exist only for the fun in breaking them." Ethan worked swiftly; the magic took care of the look, so all he needed to worry about was the colour choice. Soon he had only the area around his groin left to do, partly because he felt the feel of the cosmetics on his very needy cock might be overwhelming, and partly because... "Would you like to do this bit?" He let his eyes beg.

Rupert came forward, his own eyes dark with want. "See, what did I just say? Walking temptation, that's what you are." He looked at the makeup box then back at Ethan. "What colour should I use?"

"Close your eyes and let your fingers choose," Ethan suggested, closing his own in anticipation

"All right, but don't blame me if you end up clashing." There was a brief pause and then Rupert's hand closed around Ethan's length.

Ethan gasped and bucked. It seemed like he could feel the glittering components of the makeup spark against his skin. "Christ. Oh Ripper..." Forcing his eyes open, he looked down. Beneath Rupert's slowly moving hand, his cock was crimson and gold, swirling together in complex patterns.

Rupert's gaze was also focused downward, watching his hand slide slowly up and down Ethan's length. "It's almost hypnotic," he commented.

Ethan didn't answer; couldn't really. He put a hand heavily on Rupert's shoulder to stop himself staggering and tried to drag air in and out of his lungs.

Rupert leant in and kissed him, keeping the touch of his lips and tongue as light and teasing as that of his fingers.

"More?" Ethan asked in a strangled gasp. "Please?"

Turning back to the makeup box, Rupert replenished the makeup on his fingers then once again reached for Ethan's cock. This time however, he continued down to squeeze Ethan's balls gently, spreading the enchanted colour there as well.

Ethan panted and dug his nails into the muscle of Rupert's shoulder. As the fingers moved on, behind his balls, Ethan felt his legs start to give way, and he whimpered. An arm went around his waist to help hold him up, but Rupert's fingers implacably continued their exploring.

Ethan almost sobbed, the sensations were so intense, amplified by both the magic and his own inarguable kink for makeup in general. "Ripper, please. Please"

Rupert kissed him once more then pulled back, moving his hand away, although he kept an arm around Ethan's waist so he wouldn't fall down. "You have to do me now," he reminded.

Biting back a pointless protest, Ethan nodded, but he rested his forehead against Rupert's shoulder for a while before moving, trying to calm down a little. His success was debatable, but he nonetheless eventually stepped back. Taking the makeup box in his hands, he dropped to his knees in front of Rupert.

"So what did you have in mind for me?" Rupert asked as he casually slid his fingers through Ethan's hair as if he were petting Giddy.

"Mmm?" Ethan leant forward to touch his tongue to the inviting cock in front of him.

"With the makeup," Rupert clarified. "Blowjobs are pretty much always on your mind." His voice was still casual, but his grip on Ethan's hair tightened as Ethan licked him.

Makeup. Ah, right. It was so very hard to keep himself on track here.

Ethan looked down, and choosing instinctively, smeared a different colour on each of three fingertips before putting the box on the floor. Sitting on his heels, he began by doing both of Rupert's feet. The makeup was dark: warm browns and deep greens, like an English forest in summer, and it glinted with secrets and magical promise.

"If you're racing through the sky, I see you've got me firmly planted in the soil."

"You're my earth, dearheart," Ethan told him lovingly. "My anchor. You stop me floating away and losing myself. You give me..." He contemplated the right word. "Hmm, you give me substance." He moved his fingers up Rupert's legs, and the forest reached skyward, the colours still dark and intense, but brightened now in places by bright swirls of colour like tropical birds or blossom.

The hand in his hair slid down to caress his cheek. "You've always had substance, Ethan," Rupert told him earnestly. "But if I helped you see that, I'm glad."

Standing up, Ethan began to paint Rupert's back and belly in greens and golds. Hints of deep reds too. The magic did most of the work, but Ethan felt it was allowing him to guide it. It took no time for all of Rupert to be done. That is, bar the part Ethan knew that, once he touched it, there would be no turning back. Not that he wanted to turn back, but it was good not to leave things half-finished.

He bent to renew the colour on his fingertips, then stepped back to admire his almost completed work, moaning quietly at the sight. "Herne, that's who you are. Master of the Wild Hunt. I'll give you the best chase that any fox knows how, but eventually you catch me and fulfil both our destinies." Ethan laughed. "That should perhaps have been in the past tense."

Rupert looked down at himself then up at Ethan, his gaze hot enough to burn. "Then a re-enactment should be in order perhaps."

Ethan shut the box and put it on the sill. He stalked back to Rupert, giving him a crooked smile as he closed in. "Are you ready to sound the chase?" he asked, holding his hand just in front of Rupert's cock.

"As soon as you finish dressing me in the Hunt's colours," Rupert replied, holding Ethan's gaze.

Ethan moved, his hand surging forward and down, not touching Rupert's cock to start with, but dancing over his balls and beyond. He heard Rupert's swift intake of breath and could feel the muscles tensing at his touch, but otherwise Rupert remained still and silent as Ethan worked.

The feel of smoothing the cosmetic over this most intimate area of skin was quite something. "Move your legs apart?" Ethan suggested, his voice quiet and intense; he wanted to explore the phenomenon further. Rupert swallowed hard, but obeyed.

Ethan slipped his fingers further, moving between Rupert's buttocks and tickling oh so lightly over his opening. A groan rumbled up from deep in Rupert's chest and he reached out to brace himself against Ethan's shoulder.

It took every bit of willpower Ethan had left not to sink to his knees again, not to take Rupert into his mouth as his finger pushed inside, not to drive Rupert wild with tongue and one, two, maybe even three fingers... Oh Christ.

Ethan gritted his teeth, looked Rupert squarely in the eye, and brought his hand back, taking Rupert's cock between his fingers and thumb. Rupert's groan this time held more than a little of a growl in it, and the wildness in his eyes made Ethan's heart beat faster. He had to close his own eyes. By touch alone, he painted the warm taut skin beneath his fingers, shuddering as he felt Rupert grip hard into his shoulder. Then he let go and stood back, his eyes still shut.

"Ethan." The growl had made it into Rupert's words as well.

He forced his eyes open and time stopped. Well, it didn't really, but it might as well have done for Ethan was struck dumb and motionless by the sight of his husband. All Rupert needed was a bevy of disreputable maenads around him to become Dionysus incarnate. A tiny noise escaped Ethan's throat.

Rupert smiled at him, the expression seeming even more predatory than usual in his transformed face. "I believe someone mentioned a fox hunt?"

"I don't want to run," Ethan admitted, still staring. "Rupert..." He swallowed. "You're the Piper at the Gates of Dawn." He knew his reference would be understood.

"I guess that would make you the sunrise," Rupert said, still smiling as he took a step towards Ethan. "Or... the wind in the willows?"

"I feel more like a small brown mole wanting to bask at your feet."

"Oh, you're far too brightly plumed to ever pass for a small brown mole," Rupert assured him, taking another step.

"Mirror?" Ethan suggested weakly. "You should see..."

Rupert reached out and took Ethan's hand. "And so should you."

Entranced, Ethan let Rupert pull him back over to the mirror, Rupert moving the chair out of the way. They stood, and both of them stared at the gods in front of them: a green man, potent and dangerous, and a moon-god, mysterious and enticing.

Acting without conscious thought, Ethan lifted their joined hands before them and watched as power sparked out, their magics materialising and merging around the grasped fists. Earth and Moon, primal raw instinctual power...

"Oh, sodding hell, Ripper," Ethan muttered, rather prosaically, he had to admit.

Rupert didn't reply, at least not in words. He did raise a hand to gently turn Ethan's face towards his. They stared at each other for an endless moment, and then Rupert was leaning in to devour his mouth again. Ethan closed his eyes and simply gave himself to the experience. His body, all his skin, felt on fire from the makeup and Rupert's touch, and his mind was even more of an inferno.

"Want you," Rupert growled, his movements bordering on the rough. "Caught you, and I'm going to take you."

Ethan groaned, his legs feeling weak again. "Yours by right of conquest. Please."

Rupert pulled back, and Ethan opened his eyes to see him picking up the chair and placing it in front of the mirror, with the back to them. The look Rupert gave him then made Ethan whimper. Working out easily what Rupert planned, and his head spinning with anticipation, Ethan turned and leant over the chair, his arms taut as his hands gripped the edges of the seat. He stared at himself in the mirror.

In the reflection, Rupert approached behind him, a hunter stalking its prey. He ran a hand possessively down Ethan's spine before gripping his hips and pulling him into a position to be taken. Ethan found himself panting again. All his bodily awareness was behind him, with Rupert, and where Rupert was likely to be touching very soon.

Magic was once again sparking out from where they touched, arcing up even more as Rupert slid into him. The look on Rupert's face as he joined with Ethan, the look on Ethan's own face for that matter, would have been enough to make Ethan gasp, but combined with the feel of Rupert filling him, Ethan could do nothing to stop himself crying out.

Rupert's grip on his hips tightened as he began fucking Ethan with a slow measured rhythm, meeting and holding Ethan's gaze in the mirror as they moved together. In their reflections, Rupert seemed to be actually sporting small horns in his hair, while Ethan's eyes seemed to swirl with spiralling stardust. How much of this was the glamour, and how much the possible hallucinogenic effect of the cosmetic he'd consumed, Ethan wasn't sure.

But the horned god buggering the cosmic man was quite possibly the most erotic tableau he'd ever seen.

As Rupert's thrusts increased in speed and force, the very air around them shimmered and shook with the power of their coupling, sparks and ribbons of light and magic sliding around them as if sentient. Ethan moaned and whimpered, and the noises took form in the mirror as small firework bursts.

"Ripper... Rupert... " he started out loud, then sent, 'Talk to me. I'm flying away.'

'No, you're not,' Rupert sent back, and even his mental voice held that husky growl that always sent shivers through Ethan's nervous system. 'I'll keep you grounded. ' As if to punctuate his point, his next thrust was hard enough to force a sharp cry from Ethan's lips.

'Look at us,' Ethan sent a little desperately, shuddering under the assault. 'Just look at us.'

Rupert grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up until they were plastered together along their full lengths, the chair lifting as Ethan didn't initially let go, and then being discarded to the side. Rupert was still buried in him balls deep, and there was no possible physical way they could get any closer.

Ethan saw his own mouth open to cry again as Rupert's hand surrounded his length, and he hurtled towards his climax. But as his groin muscles pulled tight, and Rupert tensed and shuddered behind him, the image of them both in the mirror wavered and changed. For an endless fraction of a second before orgasm took him, Ethan saw not two bodies in the mirror, but one god. Tall and glowing like the sun, the figure raised its arms up high, and then the room seemed to disappear in blinding white-gold light as Ethan came.

As the aftershocks slowly faded, Rupert stumbled over and stood the chair back up. He collapsed onto it, pulling Ethan down on his lap as he did so. Neither of them spoke just yet; Rupert just held onto Ethan tightly as if loathe to let go.

Ethan slowly became aware that his hands and arms appeared normal again. Hmm, and his legs. He turned to look at Rupert; there was no sign of the make up. "I think the clock struck twelve," he said in what was intended as a dry tone but came out as an old man's palsied stammer.

Rupert didn't answer with words, but leant forward and kissed Ethan, the action borne more out of comfort and connection than the passion and lust that had fuelled earlier kisses.

Ethan took the comfort, but sent, 'Did you see it? Did you see us? Him?' As the post-orgasmic lassitude slowly faded, he was growing excited, intellectually at least, by their experiences.

"I saw," Rupert confirmed quietly, pulling back from the kiss and raising a hand to trace Ethan's features with a finger.

"What did you think? Was it nothing but the glamour?" He knew it wasn't nothing. He knew it was a very definite something.

"I don't know. Somehow I think it's more than that."

"Something your gran intended?" Before Rupert could answer, Ethan shifted on his lap and then stood. "Come on; let's get to a comfy chair or the bed. It's not good for your legs me sitting on you on this hard old thing."

"Window seat?" Rupert suggested.

Ethan nodded as he pulled his trousers back on. "Better open the door for the dogs too. Skunk's not too happy at being made to stay with Megan for so long." He paused before walking to where he'd discarded his shirt and sweater. "Don't ask me how I know that."

Rupert reclaimed his own discarded clothes and put them back on. "Developing mental bonds with your pets now?" he asked as he crossed over to open the door just enough for the dogs to come and go.

"Well, I knew I could give her mental commands, but the empathic knowledge is new and a little disturbing. You're extraordinarily calm, Rupert." Ethan thought it needed pointing out.

"Is there some reason why I shouldn't be?" Rupert crossed the room again and settled in what Ethan had discovered was his favourite spot in the room – the corner of the window seat, where he could see everything both inside and outside.

"Don't you feel like something huge just happened?" Ethan sat down beside him.

"It was an... interesting experience." He reached out and took hold of Ethan's hand.

"But it didn't... inspire you?" At that moment, a rumble of running puppies was heard outside and both their dogs ran in, hurtling across the room towards them. Skunk launched herself at breakneck speed onto Ethan's lap, forcing him to catch her with his free arm so she didn't brain herself on the glass. Even the more sedate Giddy lifted his front paws to Rupert's leg and wuffed meaningfully. "I think they know they've missed out on something important."

With a small gesture, Rupert gave his dog permission to jump up and there was a brief moment taken up with human and large puppy negotiating the sharing of limited space. Once Giddy had settled down, Rupert answered Ethan's question, although he kept his eyes on the hand he was running through Giddy's fur. "It was... affecting, certainly. 'Inspiring' isn't the first word that comes to mind for me."

"Dearheart?" Ethan asked gently. There was something a little worrying about Rupert's tone. Ethan tried to get closer, but was hindered by the dogs.

"To use one of Buffy's favourite phrases, it 'wigged me out'."

Ethan stared at Rupert in concern, holding his hand tight. "Us becoming one briefly?" he checked, just in case they'd seen something different.

"Us merging so closely that our own identities are subsumed into another, new one." Rupert looked up with an ironic half-smile. "I know that's not how you saw it, but..."

Ethan met Rupert's gaze earnestly. "I didn't feel subsumed; I felt... deified."

"It certainly was quite a... heady experience, I can't deny that."

"You're scared of losing you. I can see that. Really, I can, to the extent that I've no idea why I'm not scared. Perhaps..." He paused briefly to contemplate it. "Perhaps it's because I'm so very used to giving up all control to you, to trusting you completely."

"Perhaps," Rupert admitted. "Lord knows, I've spent most of my life keeping rigid control over myself."

"Poor Rupert." Ethan tilted his head, studying him as he thought what best to say. "Perhaps we should talk to Ian... or Lucy even?"

"I doubt either of them have experience with... whatever that was."

"They, or at least Keri, might be able to hint cryptically at what it means for us. I think you're imagining the worst."

"Possibly," Rupert admitted. He petted his dog and watched Ethan for a moment before asking, "What do you think it was?"

He shrugged and offered up, "The ultimate manifestation of our bonded power?"

Rupert sighed. "That's what I'm afraid of," he admitted wryly.

"I didn't mean I thought it would be permanent, and that's what you're afraid of, isn't it? I suppose I was imagining something like, hmm, those power ranger thingies." This was hard. Ethan found that the idea of joining so completely with Rupert was... Well, many things, and all of them good.

Rupert gave him a blank look. "Power ranger things?"

"Superheroey things. You must know what I mean; they were all the rage before my spell of incarceration. They joined together to make one big uber-hero when trouble threatened and split apart again afterwards." It was probably true that Ethan had spent far too many hours in motel rooms with nothing to do.

"Ah." Rupert's tone and expression showed he wasn't much more enlightened than before Ethan's explanation, but he continued gamely on. "The only kind of experience I've had with this sort of thing... There was a spell we used once back in Sunnydale: myself, Xander, Willow, and Buffy. Mind, heart, spirit and hand. Each of us provided our strengths for a greater whole that let Buffy defeat Adam, that would be what was in Room 314 at the Initiative." He tilted his head as he added, "Of course the spirit of the First Slayer then tried to kill us all in our dreams so it wasn't exactly an unqualified success."

Ethan didn't know what to make of all that... Well, apart from a crumbly mix of jealousy anyway. "I don't think our joining will anger any primal spirits, other than perhaps the particular manifestation of Chaos that our enemies might worship. You were the 'mind', I assume."

Rupert nodded. "It was a joining, but only of specific parts. With us though..." He looked down at their clasped hands, "It's far more. Even what we have now is far more."

"Rupert..." Ethan sighed and gently pushed Skunk to the floor. He then bodily lifted Giddy's hindquarters and slipped in under them, so that he could sit tight against Rupert and hold him. "You won't lose your identity, dearheart; how could you? You're joining with me, and I value you more than anything else in this sorry world. I would do nothing but hold and treasure everything that's you."

"It's not just the loss of my own identity that bothers me," Rupert said, wrapping an arm around Ethan and pulling him flush against his side. "I love you, all of you, and I have no more desire to see you subsumed than I do myself."

"It's not like that," Ethan insisted stubbornly, although where his certainty came from, he wasn't sure.

"It could be," Rupert insisted just as stubbornly. "One or both of us could–"

"No!" Ethan cringed at the bluntness of his tone and modified it considerably before he continued. "We're the Guardians of Balance, remember? And that... what we saw? It wasn't a bit of me and a lot of you, or even half of me, half of you. That was all of both of us. It was a giant in size and power. Nothing was lost; I'm sure of it."

"You are, aren't you?" Rupert observed, searching his face intently.

Ethan nodded, holding Rupert's gaze for long enough to show his sincerity; then he laid his forehead down on Rupert's shoulder and closed his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

The evening wasn't quite turning out as expected.

Ethan had started by asking Xander to join him on their previously proposed drinking expedition to the village, but Kat discovered what was going on and insisted upon coming too, despite or maybe because of Ethan's claims that she was too young and it was a 'men-only' affair. Perhaps she didn't trust him alone with her boyfriend.

Then, just as the three of them had been about to walk down the driveway, Ian had appeared from around the side of the house and casually attached himself to them as if he'd always been invited. Not that Ethan had minded at all. The more, the merrier really, and although Kat's presence meant he'd have to behave himself, he'd been sure he'd still find something fun to do.

Rupert had been too heavily involved with research to come along. Research which still, Ethan noted, hadn't included Harriet Giles' journals. Sooner or later, Rupert was going to have to face that demon. Researching Vaurtain in scavenged Council books seemed pointless when the original notes of the person who'd first brought Vaurtain to their attention were so readily available. Tomorrow, he decided, he'd talk to Rupert, push him a bit, but tonight, Ethan needed a break from books and prophecies in a bad way.

Just a few pleasant drinks after arriving at the rather stolid King's Arms, however, Xander had sheepishly announced that he and Kat were going to take a stroll along the riverside. After some much-needed ribbing, the walking advert for young love had left to hold hands and coo, leaving Ethan with his mentor.

He'd decided to get some more pints in before Ian could bugger off too.

Which was why he was currently at the bar trying to decide between amusement and malicious bad temper in reaction to the way people were leaning away from him as if he stunk of something foul. The landlord was surly and clearly didn't like Ethan's manner, and the pub itself was ramshackle and grubby, stained with several decades of tobacco and filth. Although poorly lit and smoky, which Ethan rather liked, it had little in the way of private nooks to sit in.

But the beer, the beer was bloody wonderful.

While waiting for two pints of a local brewery's ESB to be handed to him, Ethan watched a German shepherd stretched out by one of the tables and licking up beer from a saucer. Skunk would have loved it in here, he realised, but he'd refused to take her, knowing they'd be on roads and that he was likely to be getting drunk. He never had found the time to have the charmed collars made for their dogs.

After paying the grumpy landlord, and possibly being a little bit camp just to live up to the expectations he could clearly see in the man's expression, Ethan carefully carried two heavy glasses back to their table. "Well, this may look like a rural public house full of people who stare like they're cows chewing the cud," he said, smiling at Ian as he put the pints down. "But it feels like freedom nonetheless."

"Still having problems settling in at the in-laws'?" Ian asked, reaching for a glass.

"Yes, I suppose that's what Matthew is," Ethan said thoughtfully, having not quite thought in those terms before. "Well, I like Harriet Giles well enough." He grinned at Ian. "She left me a present."

Ian raised his eyebrows. "Aha, bribery from beyond the grave?"

"Yes. That would have been last Tuesday." Ethan smirked over the lip of his pint glass. "The day you made those comments about our patterns that caused Rupert to try to clean his contact lenses with his handkerchief."

"Silly thing to get uncomfortable about," Ian chuckled, taking a long drink. "He certainly doesn't think that it's a secret what you two get up to, does he?"

"I don't think he's ever quite forgiven either of us for the day you watched us in the meadow, even though your reasons were thoroughly mentorish and worthy, I'm sure."

"Oh, of course," Ian agreed. "My motives were completely professional." Ethan sniggered into his beer, and Ian grinned. "No, I wouldn't believe me either."

Smiling, Ethan remembered the things Ian had observed. "I liked you being there," he said. "It helped make it all more real, you playing witness. That's aside from any exhibitionist tendencies I may or may not have, of course." He winked.

"May or may not have?" Ian snorted. "Tell the truth, you'd go at it right here in front of these fine upstanding country folk, if you could convince Rupert to."

That made Ethan laugh aloud, causing more of the already suspicious patrons to look towards their table. He blew a kiss towards a curmudgeonly looking pensioner with a very red face. The old git nearly fell off his bar stool. "I would at that. Care for another pint before they refuse to serve us anymore?"

"Why not? If we're going to get thrown out for drunk and disorderly behaviour, it would behove us to do our best to actually be drunk." Ian nodded sagely.

Ethan nodded equally wisely and said, "Your round, old crow."

Ian got up and went to the bar. Ethan couldn't hear what he said, but his mentor's smile and the way the landlord seemed to relax just a bit as they talked certainly implied Ian was charming him. When Ian came back over carrying the two pints, his expression was just slightly ever so smug.

Ethan narrowed his eyes. "All right, what did you just tell the git behind the bar?"

"Hmm?" Ian sat down and drank deeply.

"Don't hmm me. What yarn were you spinning at the bar?" Ethan paused to savour his drink. "Oh, provincial twerps they may be, but they certainly know a good real ale."

"Quite. It's places like this you have to go to find the good stuff these days. Far too often in the city it seems like quality alcohol is considered less important for a successful establishment than atmosphere."

"And that atmosphere is more often than not wall screens showing football or MTV. Sometimes both in different areas of the bar. Now if they were to show gay porn of course... What did you say to the landlord, Ian?"

Ian smiled mysteriously. "Perhaps I offered him some gay porn."

"And perhaps you didn't." Ethan didn't believe it for a second.

"Perhaps I didn't," Ian agreed affably. "I have to have some secrets still, or what would you need me for?"

"As a friend?" Ethan raised his eyebrow at Ian.

"As a teacher."

Ethan frowned. "The point I was trying to make is that I consider you my friend, you rangy old blackbird. That's what I need you for. Did you really think it was for the sparse few lines of cryptic 'information' you throw at me once in a while?" He huffed. "Oh, don't look like that. We both know I probably wouldn't even be around still if it wasn't for your guidance. I'm not being ungrateful. I'm trying to tell you why I need you around now."

Ian regarded him with sharp blue eyes, the emotion in them unreadable. "Friends, eh? It's been a long while since I met someone that I could simply call 'friend' without any other names making it... messy."

Ethan gave him a gentle, honest smile; he could manage them sometimes, and the moment called for it. "Not even in the Coven?" he asked after a few seconds. "I did notice you kept yourself apart a little, but... Well, you all have to work together, don't you?"

"And that's what it is, working together. Work. Of course, that's not to say there aren't genuine bonds of affection there, but if it wasn't for what I could offer the Coven in the first place..." Ian shrugged. "Tell me, can you honestly see Lucy and me developing a friendship if it were not for the 'work'?"

Ethan snorted softly. "No. No, I suppose not. How long have you been with them?"

"Oh, quite a while, a lifetime it feels like. My teacher brought me to Devon after I'd sweated out the Chaos." Ian paused and took another drink, his gaze distant with memories. "It was a good place to recover."

Nodding, Ethan admitted, "I've missed the sea, ever since we left."

Ian nodded also, his expression one of perfect understanding. "I expect that men like us were often sailors in times past, and the most foolhardy and daring among mariners too – the ones who would ride the waves through the roughest of storms no matter how great the danger."

Ethan laughed just a little uncomfortably. "That sounds rather exciting actually."

"It does, doesn't it? Standing at the wheel while waves crash over the sides, and the wind lashes raindrops against your skin hard enough to sting..."

Ethan finished his pint in a hurry. "If we don't have a storm here soon, I'm going to have to make one. It's been too long. Drink up, I'll get another in." Ian grinned and tilted his head back as he drained the rest of his glass.

The landlord was much more friendly to Ethan than the last time he'd been to the bar, and Ethan's suspicions increased. He bought a couple of pints of something chalked on the blackboard as 'Baddleston's Fine Old Ale', which came out the tap a deep ruddy brown, and a selection of crisps and nuts. Returning to the table, he said, "Look at the colour of this."

"Oh, now that's a lovely shade," Ian said enthusiastically. "Shall we see if it tastes as good as it looks?"

Sitting back down, Ethan raised his glass to his lips and took a good swig. "Ah." He grinned happily. "Now that is what I call warming."

"Drink much of this and one would be positively hot." Ian paused to take another deep swallow. "Keep drinking beyond that point and everyone else would start looking 'hot' as well."

Ethan chuckled and threw a bag of crisps at Ian, choosing pork scratchings for himself. He realised he was getting drunk when he heard himself ask curiously, "Would you? I mean, if there was someone 'hot'?" It was not a necessarily a wise or kind area to take conversation into with Ian.

Ian concentrated on getting the crisps open before answering. "Depends. Maybe." He glanced up to meet Ethan's gaze with a tiny smile. "If circumstances were different, I might even be expecting this night to have an entirely different ending than it is likely to have."

Ethan's answering smile was sad. "In different circumstances," he agreed. "I certainly wouldn't have said no back when." Then he brightened. "But that doesn't mean we can't still have fun together."

"Here, here." Ian raised his glass in a toast before taking another drink. "Just slightly less... naked fun."

Drinking deeply –the ale was fantastic– Ethan contemplated clothed fun. A slight inkling of a wicked idea was beginning to form. "It's not the sea, but do you fancy a walk along the river after we've got this round down us?"

Ian slapped the table. "Excellent idea. Fine night for a stroll."

In the end, it took about ten minutes of ale-finishing, snack-eating, giggling, and visits to the gents before Ian and Ethan were out in the cold air again and making their ever so slightly not-straight way to the river path.

Buckham village straddled the river Thames rather unevenly, with all the village proper being on one side, but a new housing estate now on the other, joined by both traffic and pedestrian bridges. The Thames was only about the width of a major A-road across at this stage in its journey, but it was still deep and fast flowing. Deep enough for boats, anyway.

It was a clear night, well lit by a gibbous moon. Ethan turned to Ian as they reached the path. "Would you mind terribly if I cloaked us?"

"You have some mischief in mind, my boy?"

"Me? I'm a fully reformed law-abiding citizen now, I'll have you know."

Ian just looked at him and repeated, "So you have some mischief in mind?"

Ethan grinned at him. "Thought you might fancy a boat ride."

Throwing his head back, Ian laughed. "You are a man after my own heart, m'boy."

Ethan's grin became broader still as he took Ian's hand and pulled at the patterns around them, not so much hiding them from view but hazing their presence. People might see them, but they were very unlikely to remember them.

It was only when he had finished that Ethan realised that Ian's hand still felt a little like it had when he'd first taken it back on that Devonshire beach, when Ian had given him a taste of wild magic, reminding Ethan of his true nature. There was a hint of storms, of ozone and brine in the touch. "You taste good for an old bird," he said and giggled a little drunkenly.

"You're not exactly cod liver oil yourself," Ian replied, looking around them, no doubt inspecting the tweaked pattern. "You've developed a very deft touch with your magic."

"Thank you!" Pulling Ian by the hand, Ethan took them both over the low wall and down to the small private mooring bay they had been passing. "The thing with boats," he murmured, although there seemed to be no one around but them, "is that they're very hard to secure."

Ian nodded as he listened. "Stole a boat before, have you?"

"We're not stealing; we're borrowing," Ethan insisted. "And yes. Have you?"

"No." Ian considered for a moment. "Well, there was that one time with an oil tanker, but that was more like a pirating than a theft."

Ethan spluttered loudly. "An oil tanker?" He boggled at the older man. "Well, that's put my adventures to shame."

"It wasn't anything I had planned, just circumstances running away with me." Ian tilted his head as he thought about it. "Come to think of it, most of my so-called adventures could be explained that way."

"That's the best sort." There were several boats to choose from, some of them relatively posh, but Ethan's eye was taken by a small sailing boat, little more than a skiff, lurking in the shadow of the bigger vessels. "Do you think between us we can twist this breeze into a significant but highly localised wind?"

Ian grinned like a mischievous little boy. "I'd be very disappointed in both of us if we can't manage something as simple as that."

A part of Ethan noticed that Ian was a lot easier to persuade into things than Rupert was, in the sense that no persuasion at all was actually required. This probably meant they were about to get into Very Big Trouble, but to hell with it. They both deserved a bit of fun.

"Come on then." Ethan began to untie the rope holding the boat to the docking ring.

"You do realise that this is quite probably another instance of circumstances running away with us?" Ian jumped agilely across onto the deck of the boat and began investigating the sails.

"Oh, I'm certainly hoping so," Ethan agreed easily, giving up on the knot and using magic to fray the old rope instead.

By the time Ethan had freed the boat, Ian had managed to get the sail up and rigged and was looking quite pleased with himself. "If we steer the rudder and the winds just right, we could make it all the way to London."

"Not sure that's the best of destinations for us currently," Ethan replied, which was a far too sober and sensible thing to say. He stepped onto the boat, wobbling ever so slightly as he did, and tried to rectify his misplaced common sense with, "Maybe as far as Windsor. I owe a couple of prats there some mischief."

"Why don't we leave it up to fate? And the wind?" Ian suggested, settling down by the rudder. "Wherever it takes us, that's where we'll go."

Ethan laughed. "We'll end up in France, just you wait." He stood at the prow of the little boat, his legs apart to help him balance. "So..." he started leadingly.

Ian chuckled knowingly. "So I see there are a few things yet I can teach you." He lifted his right hand in a casual come-hither gesture, and Ethan could sense the way the patterns shifted in the air. It was deft and subtle work, so much so that Ethan wasn't sure he was getting it all, but the breeze that suddenly caressed his cheek and filled their boat's sail proved how effective it was.

"Oh, that's nice. Very nice." He grinned back at Ian. "We don't need you on the rudder, you know. One thing I can see how to do is tweaking the currents to steer by. Or are you surreptitiously resting old bones?" He sniggered.

"More like staying out of your way so you don't wobble me right off into the water," Ian shot back, eyes bright with humour.

"I have perfect balance," Ethan claimed, tipping his head back to enjoy the gusty caresses of Ian's weather-work. "I just have also had Baddleston's Fine Old Ale among other things."

"Oh, come now. That little bit of admittedly very fine ale isn't enough to affect you now, is it?"

"It is if I want it to be." Ethan cast a happy grin over his shoulder at Ian. "It's been quite a while since I've been drunk and disorderly, and I'm determined to make the most of every second."

Ian nodded in understanding then quite clearly said, "Lightweight."

Ethan turned around and put his hands on his hips. "Perhaps you should be standing up when you say that. Old man."

Obligingly, Ian climbed to his feet, sending their little craft swaying with his movements. "Lightweight," he repeated, adding, "Infant."

To his credit, Ethan didn't stagger as the boat wobbled, but only because he was tweaking patterns wildly. "You have a lower centre of gravity. Shortarse."

"Making excuses now, are we?" The sheer delight in Ian's expression was something that Ethan had never seen on the older man before.

Ethan felt a thrill of wild joy that he was able to do this for Ian. He locked gazes. "Tell you what, let's boost your rather lacklustre breeze, shall we? See who's the first to fall over." Clumsily, he tried to replicate what he'd felt Ian doing with the air currents earlier. A hefty gust appeared from nowhere, and the mast creaked loudly as the sail bulged.

The boat jerked and took off along the river at a rate of, well, not perhaps knots, but getting there, and Ethan staggered. But he didn't, quite, fall.

He felt Ian wrest control back from him, and their movement smoothed out, although they didn't lose any speed. "If you break off the mast we won't be going anywhere," Ian told him primly.

Ethan just grinned, holding his arms out to his sides and relishing the buffeting air. Had there been any clouds in the sky, he would have considered attempting to create rain, despite the wintry temperatures. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself back on that clifftop with Rupert, mastering the storm.

He sensed Ian tweak the wind's patterns, smoothing out the gusts and sending them downriver even faster.

"You're very good at this," Ethan told him, raising his voice to be heard. "So many years living in the wilds, I suspect. One day, when the weather's right for it, we should make a storm together, you and I."

"Now that would be something, wouldn't it?" There was something about Ian's smile and the tone of his voice that sent a frisson of alarm and sadness through Ethan.

He scowled at Ian, folding his arms. "Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Talking as if you..." Ethan looked down, uncharacteristically afraid to say the words.

Ian moved closer and put a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "We all will, someday. It's nothing I fear."

"Someday," Ethan echoed, looking up and meeting the blue eyes. "It's some day soon for you though, isn't it? At least you believe it is." He snorted very softly. "I don't know how you've found the courage to stay this long. You're a far better man than I."

"I stayed because I knew one day there would be a chance to help get it right. If not for me and Derek, then for another pair like us." He gave Ethan a completely contented smile. "I stayed to help you."

Ethan stared at Ian for a few long seconds, torn between hugging the man tightly and trying to lighten the mood with a cheeky joke. Neither of them seemed to be looking where they were going, but with the 360-degree vision of pattern sense, that wasn't a problem providing they concentrated. Ethan could, however, see where they were passing and so noticed a couple walking on the riverside, cuddled close together. "Look!" he pointed out to Ian. "It's Kat and Xander."

Ian turned and looked. "So it is. Making the most of the romantic setting too it looks like."

Ethan put his fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. When the lovebirds looked around, startled, he let the cloaking drop briefly and waved at them.

They both stared; then Xander started laughing, shaking his head, Kat joining in a few seconds later. "Do you even know how to sail?" Xander yelled across the water at them.

"We're expert boatmen, masters of wind and wave," Ethan shouted back, and only half of it was a lie. "Thought we'd check up on you! Put that boy down immediately, Katherine. You don't know where he's been." Somewhere in one of the gardens that backed onto the river, a dog began to bark.

"I'll just have to be extra diligent in looking for clues then," Kat yelled back. Ethan imagined Xander swallowing hard at that news.

They were getting too far away to continue the conversation, so Ethan just made an elaborate bow, wobbling rather dangerously on his feet when the boat rocked. Regaining his balance, he grinned at Ian and re-twisted the patterns that had been hiding them.

Ian was still looking back at the young lovebirds. "We don't seem to have broken the mood for them anyway."

"They're very sweet together. I hope to see Megan in a similar, if same-sex, huddle one day."

"I'm sure she will find someone worthy of her," Ian said. "In time."

"She feels her aloneness. Really feels it, I mean. Some people it doesn't bother, others..." This was very dangerous ground. Talking to Ian about loneliness seemed almost cruel. Ethan gave him an apologetic smile. "I think I'm sobering up. Most disappointing."

Ian tsked and shook his head. "Can't hold his liquor and can't hold his buzz." He dug into a pocket of his jacket and came out with a small bag. "We'll have to do something about that."

"Oh, Ian." Ethan stared happily at the bag. "Is that what I think it is?"

Ian tossed him the bag with a smile. "There are advantages to living in the wilds as you put it."

"You have a greenhouse then. Very nice." Ethan sat down on the slat of wood that served as a seat in the front of the boat. "Perhaps a pocket of calm?"

"Good idea. Wouldn't want any of this to go to waste." Ian waved a hand casually, and the patterns of the wind shifted, flowing around them but not touching them at all, although the sail was still billowing.

Fortunately, the grass was already rolled into small 'coffin-nail' joints, tobacco-free unless Ethan missed his guess and densely packed. He took one out and smelled it. "Oh, there's nothing like good home-grown. One each?"

Ian nodded. "It's difficult to smoke more than one at a time without looking like a total git."

Ethan took a second joint from the bag, together with the box of Swan Vesta, and then resealed it. He held both of the slim cigarettes between his index and middle finger, defiantly sucking on them as he lit them. "Total git, eh?" he asked, but then the hit found him and he snorted, starting to chuckle.

"Well, a greedy git at least," Ian replied, reaching over and plucking one of the joints from Ethan's hand.

After pocketing the bag, Ethan stood again and poked Ian on the chest. "You've enhanced this," he accused, talking through one side of his mouth as he didn't want to miss a single inhale. It seemed like a lifetime since he'd done any dope, and this dope had something a little extra to it, if he was right. The buzz was intense and invigorating.

"Yes. Yes, I did." Ian inhaled deeply on his own joint, his eyes sinking to half-mast in pleasure. "I had many years to experiment while I was waiting for you to come to your senses."

"You should have come to find me." Ethan patted Ian's arm. "We could have had fun."

Ian gave him a smile tinged with sadness. "You weren't ready."

"Could still have had some fun." Ethan realised suddenly that the look he was giving Ian was openly sexual, and he turned away in a hurry. "Damn good stuff this."

"Yes, it is," Ian agreed, chuckling and throwing a companionable arm around Ethan's shoulders. "I'm damned good at this, if I do say so myself."

With a mental shrug, Ethan put his arm around Ian's waist. "Needing support are we now, old man? Getting a little unsteady on your pins?"

Ian snorted indelicately. "Hardly. Just sometimes, it's nice to let the patterns jostle against each other. Contact can be... invigorating."

They both really needed to stop flirting, but ah. What was the harm in it really? Ethan would never betray Rupert in that way, and Ian knew it. So this was just... fun. Yes, fun which they both needed. They'd been wild spirits trapped within order and responsibility for too long. "Invigorating. I see." He took a deep drag and heard his voice slur a little as he added, "Sure that it's not this wonderful stuff?"

"It's certainly not hurting any. I dare say with enough of it, nothing would hurt."

Ethan felt his arm inadvertently tighten around Ian, and he pulled him around a little. A small unworthy part of him wondered if he was being manipulated, his obvious sympathies being played on by Ian. But even if Ian were, under the influence of drink, drugs and loneliness, doing just that, it wouldn't change the painful truth of what he'd just said. Ethan stared sadly at him. "Ian, I..." He shook his head slowly. "I don't know what to say."

Ian smiled back bittersweetly. "There's nothing to say, my boy. Things are the way they are."

Ethan continued to stare, studying Ian's features as he finished the last of his joint. He held out his arm to where the wind still blew and let the air carry the tiny roach away. "I know you said that seeing Rupert and I together doesn't hurt you, but..." He crimped his mouth, realising he was probably going too far here, but going there anyway. "Well, it would me. If I were you, I'd sometimes find myself intensely hating us –that is, the whole pair– for having what I couldn't have. The pair's existence would be salt in an open wound that could never scar over. Why don't you hate us, Ian?"

"Hating you," Ian brought a hand up to caress the air beside Ethan's cheek, "would be like hating myself. Possible perhaps, but certainly not healthy. And hating your Rupert..." he sighed and dropped his hand again.

"What?" Ethan prompted. They were standing so close, their arms draped loosely around each other, the boat's motion sometimes rocking them closer still. Ethan thought little of reaching up and cupping Ian's cheek, reflecting and completing Ian's aborted gesture. "What about my Rupert?"

Ian met Ethan's eyes as he admitted slightly ruefully, "My problem with Rupert isn't trying not to hate him. It's rather the complete opposite."

Ah, of course. "That... makes perfect sense. Oh, Ian." Running out of words, Ethan pulled Ian closer to him. Of course Ian was attracted to Rupert. Of course he was. It must be hell for the poor bastard. "I'm so sorry. Really, I am."

Ian shook his head and smiled. "It's all right. Really. Watching the two of you is all I could hope for. Seeing you get it right, seeing you bonding in the way Derek and I never got the chance to... I'm satisfied with that."

"Satisfied," Ethan echoed. "Well, it's a word, I suppose." He didn't want to let Ian go just yet, not until the palpable aura of pain between them had lessened. "So," he started, allowing an evil smile to brighten his face. "If hating me would be tantamount to self-loathing, had we met while I was still single, would that have been masturbation?"

He watched as a truly wicked smile transformed Ian's face. "If we had met under different circumstances, I expect that there would have been far too many fireworks to consider it masturbation."

Ethan laughed and didn't fight his body's response to Ian's words. "I'm forced to agree. So much so in fact that–" After giving Ian a deliberately heated if rueful look, Ethan released him and stepped back. "That I'm going to stand over here now."

"Yes," Ian agreed wryly, "we wouldn't want people to talk." It was then that Ethan noticed how close to the riverbank they were now moving. He hurriedly tried to tweak the currents to get them back to the centre.

"Because, of course, we have so many spectators out here. Ian, do you think we could slow down a little, we're getting a smidgen too close–"

Their boat suddenly came to a violent halt, and Ethan's balance finally failed him. One moment he was standing on the boat's deck, the next he was flying through the air and landing in the ice-cold water with an impressively loud splash.

He spluttered and floundered until his feet found the bottom, and he managed to stand, tweaking the currents in the deep river not to push at him so. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered, glaring at Ian. The bastard, who was not even trying not to laugh, was still on his feet in the boat, which had, it seemed, got caught on a projecting tree root.

"Have you any idea how bloody freezing this water is?" Ethan demanded. "I'm lucky my heart didn't stop on the spot."

"Oh come now," Ian said, still chuckling as he leant over the short railing and reached out a hand to Ethan. "There's not even any ice forming. You're perfectly fine."

Ethan didn't mean to do it; he truly didn't. He wasn't even sure quite how it happened, but as he took Ian's hand and tried to scrabble back into the boat, his wet shoe slipped on the side, and he fell forward, rocking the boat significantly. That and the yank his fall obviously gave to Ian's arm was enough to finally unbalance the older man, and there was a second loud splash and a suddenly empty boat. "Oops."

Ian came up sputtering and blistering the air with his cursing.

Ethan was kind enough to grab Ian's arm and help him straighten as well as making sure the tweaked currents flowed around them both, but Ethan couldn't stop himself giggling helplessly the whole time. "What are you making such a fuss about, old man? Bracing, that's what this is."

"If this is bracing, I think I'd rather just be allowed to fall over." Ian was visibly shivering.

"Well, it is sodding February. Come on, let's get you out of here." Ethan put his arm around Ian and pulled him to the bank, helping him out. That was easier than trying to climb back into the boat. "This is where we need a Rupert to warm us up."

Ian chuckled again, even through his chattering teeth. "While I appreciate the offer of sharing, your Rupert might have something to say about it."

"I meant his handy line in spells actually." Not that Ethan found the idea of a threesome exactly off-putting, but like Ian, he couldn't quite imagine Rupert agreeing. Even back in their wild days, Rupert hadn't liked to share all that much; it had taken a lot of persuasion. Ethan clambered out of the water and wondered if he'd ever be able to feel the bottom half of his body again. "We've a long walk home, old crow, and we'll be asking for hypothermia. Shall I call him to come and fetch us?"

"Best do." Ian looked up at the night sky, which had clouded over since the start of their adventures. "Too dark to fly back."

Ethan had never reached for Rupert from so far away before, but it was that or freeze to death. He grabbed Ian's hand in case he needed to borrow power; he couldn't imagine Ian objecting under the circumstances. Closing his eyes, Ethan reached out, finding that place in his mind where he heard Rupert when they spoke telepathically and going deeply into it. ' _Ripper? Can you hear me?_ '

Rupert's response came quickly and far more strongly than Ethan had expected. _'Ethan? What's wrong?'_

That was gratifying. ' _We - that is, Ian and I - rather need rescuing actually, dear. Sorry to disturb._ '

' _Of course you do._ ' Ethan could picture the world-weary expression Rupert was sure to be wearing, could sense too the quiet pleasure at being needed under the exasperation. ' _What have you got yourself into this time?_ '

' _We fell in the river, a fair way downstream from the village, and, um, it's a trifle nippy.'_

' _You fell in the– I can't let you out of my sight for a minute, can I?_ '

' _Feel free to lecture me as much as you like, dear, but please come. I'm worried about Ian. He has less meat on him even than me, and he's shivering violently._ ' Ethan reached out and pulled Ian close to him, although, as he was equally frozen, he wasn't sure how much good it would do. "Come on," he said aloud, "Let's find civilisation and a landmark or two."

' _I'm on my way. It would help if you could get to a road, or at least a place I can pull the car in._ '

' _Trying,_ ' Ethan told him. ' _I think we're close to Warlow, although I can't be sure. We, er, fancied a spot of boating._ '

' _Well, that would explain the falling in the river,_ ' Rupert observed. ' _I'm in the car now. I'm sure I can track you when I get close enough._ '

' _Thank you, dearheart,_ ' Ethan sent meekly. To Ian, he said, "Would you be better off as a crow while we wait for Rupert? I could hold your clothes." He was alarmed at how frail the man felt in his arms as they pushed through the undergrowth.

Ian shook his head, obviously making an effort to control his shivering. "I'm fine," he insisted stubbornly. "A little dunking isn't going to do me any lasting harm."

They found themselves in a small field, but there were lights from houses close by, and Ethan could hear traffic noise. As they walked, Ethan ran his pattern senses over Ian, making sure that he truly was all right, but predictably, the man did seem to have his bodily reactions under control as much as was actually possible under the circumstances. "That wasn't deliberate, you know," he pointed out, feeling guilty nonetheless.

"But you enjoyed it," Ian countered, glancing at him with a tiny smile.

"Well, I did until I started getting worried about you." Ethan's coat was feeling oppressively heavy, but he supposed taking it off would be unwise, despite the amount of water it must have been holding. "Everything before the dunking, however, I enjoyed a great deal. Definitely worth the lecture I will no doubt get as a result of it."

"You're not fooling anybody, you know. You relish every lecture he gives you. Because it proves he cares."

"You know me far too well." They came out onto a road, and as luck would have it, there was a signpost a little way ahead. Ethan walked them towards it, still keeping a close hold on Ian. The sign bid them 'Welcome to Misham-upon-Thames'. ' _Ah, we're just outside Misham,_ ' he sent to Rupert. ' _Are you close? I can't feel my toes._ '

' _I should be there in a few minutes,_ ' Rupert sent. ' _With the car heater going full blast._ '

' _I love you. Truly._ '

' _Try not to let any important bits freeze before I get there._ '

"We won't have to wait long," he told Ian. "Do you want to see if this village has a pub still open so we can drip on their floor?" He wasn't sure what the time was, but if it was after closing time, he was prepared to knock insistently.

"That does sound like a workable plan," Ian agreed. He had his arms crossed over his chest as if he could hold in his body heat by will alone.

"He says he has the car heaters on full. Come on then, old thing." Ethan tugged on Ian's waist, and they made their way into the village. Their progress was slow – soaking shoes, heavy clothes and violently shivering bodies didn't lend themselves to haste. The occasional car passed them, but none of them stopped. Ethan could feel Rupert getting closer, however. "I'm sure Ratty and Mole never had this problem."

Ian let out a mostly silent laugh at that. "I doubt Ratty and Mole ever got up to some of the things that can be laid at our two doorsteps."

"So what, this is punishment? For our many sins?" Ethan laughed. "My dear Ian, sod that. We've both paid our karmic debts by now, surely. Well, some of them. Maybe." Ah, a pub... which looked depressingly closed. Nonetheless, he pulled Ian towards the closed door.

A familiar car pulled up just then, and through a rolled down window, Rupert asked, "Did someone call for a cab?"

"Oh, thank God." Ethan dragged a suddenly strangely stiff Ian to the car. "You better sit in the front; it will be warmer," he told him as he opened the door. "Hello, my shining knight," he said to Rupert, leaning inside to briefly kiss his husband with frozen lips. "Going to sit Ian in the front."

"That's quite all right," Ian said quickly, reaching for the door to the rear seat. "I'll be perfectly fine in the back."

Ethan caught him in a hurry and more or less pushed him into the front seat. "Do as you're damn well told and stop letting the heat escape; we need it." He knew why Ian was objecting, but the older man was in a worse way than Ethan was and so got the front seat. It was simple. He shut the door on Ian quickly, struggled out of his soaking coat, and got into the back. "Oh, Mrs B better have some soup in the larder we can warm up; that's all I can say."

"I'm sure we can find something for you," Rupert said and then looked over at Ian. "May I...?" he asked politely, reaching out a hand towards him.

Ethan could see that Ian was still uncomfortable, but he nodded his permission. Rupert then touched Ian's arm and murmured, " Exhala aquam viduum," evaporating the moisture from his clothes.

"Oh, yes please," Ethan said, pushing an arm between them. It wasn't just eagerness to be dry, although that was most assuredly present; it was also a desire to take the attention away from Ian quickly. Ethan was feeling protective towards his old mentor.

"By all rights, I should make you wait," Rupert said sternly, even as he repeated the spell on Ethan. "But I've seen you with pneumonia enough for this lifetime."

Christ, it felt good to be dry. With the water gone, Ethan was starting to feel the heat in the car. He might actually stop shivering soon. "Oh, very well. I'll take all the blame for this," he said theatrically. "I can be magnanimous."

"Actually, it was more of a group decision," Ian said. He was holding himself stiffly still after being touched by Rupert's magic, but managed to sound close to normal. "Perhaps a bit influenced by Baddleston's Fine Old Ale, granted..."

"Damn good ale, that," Ethan said happily. He surreptitiously placed a hand on Ian's shoulder and squeezed. "It was a good evening, Rupert, until the end at least. You should have come. Xander and Kat went off to engage in intensive oral investigations someplace; we were free to misbehave as much as we wanted."

"That much is obvious," Rupert said drily. "Still, I'm glad you had fun."

' _Are you okay?_ ' Ethan sent. He was suddenly wondering exactly how much of the awkwardness and discomfort Ian felt around Rupert was returned.

' _Fine_.' In the rear-view mirror, Ethan saw Rupert's gaze flick towards Ian. ' _It's just a bit disheartening when your very presence causes someone pain._ '

' _Oh. Ohh. It's not precisely pain, dear,_ ' Ethan told him. There could be no secrets between them, and Ian surely knew that.

Another glance in Ian's direction. ' _Certainly looks like pain._ '

' _Well, yes, I'm sure it is painful. Frustrated desire often is, after all. Do stop looking at him though. He's very far from stupid, and I don't want to embarrass him on top of everything else._ ' Ethan squeezed Ian's shoulder again. "Home soon. Hot soup and toast, I think."

"Or a whisky," Ian countered, showing a bit more spirit.

"Isn't that how you two got into this mess in the first place?" Rupert asked aloud. Meanwhile, he sounded amazed when he sent, ' _Are you saying that Ian... fancies me?_ '

' _Of course he does,_ ' Ethan sent, although the realisation had earlier taken him by surprise as well. ' _And were I not around, you'd fancy him too. Truly, Rupert. It's obvious if you think about it._ '

' _I suppose, looking at it... but still..._ ' Rupert sounded bewildered. ' _It's certainly the last thing I expected._ '

' _All these years, Rupert. So very many, he's been waiting alone for us to be ready for him to help. You knew him before we got back together. Think back. Didn't you feel some attraction for him then?_ '

He could almost feel Rupert thinking hard about it, turning it over in his mind. ' _I was too busy doing my best to forget I even knew how to do magic, and he was doing his best to remain distant. I guess I know why now._ '

They were back at Buckham Hall, turning into the driveway. Ethan felt the reassuring touch of the wards as they drove through them. "How are you feeling, Ian?" he asked. "Warmer?"

"Yes. Although also distressingly sober." Ian sighed dramatically. "I suppose one must take the bad with the good."

"Matthew has an ample supply of fine spirits which I'm sure we can happily pilfer." Ethan lifted his still soaking coat, which had missed out on the drying spell, and pulled out a certain plastic bag, still safely sealed. He waved it between Ian and Rupert. "And there's still these..."

Rupert did a bit of a double take, but to his credit sounded perfectly casual when he spoke. "It's been quite a while since I've seen something like that. Longer since I've done something like that."

"They're exceptionally good," Ethan told him. "Ian's a bit of a master cultivator."

"A man of many talents," Rupert praised.

Ian smiled at that, seeming a bit more relaxed. "Unfortunately 'sailor' doesn't seem to be among them, hence our need for rescue."

"It was my fault," Ethan admitted as they pulled to a halt. "I was meant to be steering."

"We both lost track of our surroundings," Ian countered. "So the blame is more rightly shared."

"Far be it from me to be a blame-hog," Ethan said with a laugh. As they got out of the car, he sent urgently to Rupert, ' _I don't want him to be on his own. Not quite yet. Can you–_ ' Could Rupert what? Ethan realised he didn't know what exactly he was asking for.

"It's other things I'm more concerned about you hogging," Rupert said smoothly, giving the bag Ethan still held a meaningful glance. "Although perhaps I can provide a less perilous place to consume it." He looked at Ian. "If you would like to continue the evening...?"

"Yes, Ian," Ethan encouraged as they gathered at the front of the car. "Let us old bohemians find somewhere quiet and enjoy the fruits of your disreputable labours together." He winked at Ian, and following instinct, reached out to take his mentor's hand, which he squeezed.

The look Ian gave him made it clear he knew exactly what they were up to, but he acquiesced easily enough. "Why not?" he said with an easy smile. "We certainly wouldn't want it to go to waste."

With a sense of relief, Ethan released Ian's hand and turned to Rupert. "Where to, dear? Only I have no coat, and I'm getting cold again."

"Inside," Rupert said, with a faint smile. "I have a few places I used to sneak off to when I was young and trying to smoke without getting caught."


	9. Chapter 9

"Inside," Rupert said with a faint smile. "I have a few places I used to sneak off to when I was young and trying to smoke without getting caught."

"Naughty boy," Ethan scolded fondly, coveting yet again the child he had never known. Although by the time Rupert had been covertly smoking, it couldn't have been that long before their discovery of each other.

They followed Rupert inside, all three of them apparently making an effort to be quiet as if they were teenagers trying to sneak in late without being heard. Their attempts were rather ruined, of course, when two yapping, bouncing dogs appeared, prancing around their ankles. Or in Giddy's case, thighs.

"It's a good thing we don't actually need to sneak," Ian chuckled, looking down at the scampering animals.

"Covert operations are certainly not their specialty," Rupert agreed. Then he slipped away from them into a side room for a moment, Gwydion galloping after him.

Ethan picked Skunk up, wondering if he was imagining the slightly reproachful look she seemed to give him. "Come now, menace. I can't take you everywhere, and I can't imagine you would have enjoyed an ice cold bath either." Her look and sharp yap seemed to imply that yes, he could, and yes, she would have. Ethan rolled his eyes at Ian. "Ever had a pet?"

"Not as such, no. Although I am on speaking terms with much of the wildlife around Devon."

Ethan stared appraisingly at him. "Ever, hmm, I don't know... Ever sabotaged a hunt?" Ethan's 'innocent' tone was about as innocent as Madam Sin herself. Unfortunately, before Ian could answer, Rupert came back, carrying two bottles of what looked like very good malt, Gwydion still trotting happily at his heels.

"Will this suit you more than soup and toast, Ian?"

Ian smiled at Rupert and nodded, seeming more at ease with the man now that he'd joined their wicked activities. "I believe that's exactly what is needed to hit the spot."

"Wonderful man," Ethan said. "This is going to be good. Or rather, delightfully bad." He did catch himself thinking fondly of the several packets of crisps he had secreted in the pockets of his soaking wet coat currently languishing in the back of Rupert's car, but he wasn't so hungry that he wanted to delay things. "Lead on."

Rupert grinned, for a second looking eerily like the boy Ethan remembered, as he led the way up stairs once along a corridor and then up again until they were on the little used third floor. "The best room for this kind of thing is down this way," he said, leading them to the left.

As Rupert led them on a twisting path, Ethan decided they were heading into one of the wings of the house, which, as Ethan understood, were both mothballed, being both in need of a little repair and not required by the household. They passed many shut doors, and even though Ethan knew the house wasn't that big, he began to feel otherwise. "I think we maybe should have left a trail of breadcrumbs behind us."

"Don't trust me to get you back?" Rupert asked, glancing over his shoulder at Ethan.

"You haven't tried Ian's dope yet," Ethan told him with a laugh. "You'll be lucky if you can find your way to your toes." They stopped in front of a door that was near on identical to the many others they'd passed.

Rupert touched the lock, and Ethan felt a slight surge of magic. "Lost the key years ago," Rupert murmured as he turned the knob.

Inside was not what Ethan was expecting. It was a smallish room which was anything but square, the walls having multiple angular intrusions and alcoves and the ceiling sloping towards the small window. There was what appeared to be a genuine Victorian mural painted on one wall, and although the images were faded now, the bunnies and toy soldiers among other things made it clear this had once been a nursery.

The two dogs immediately began sniffing around everything.

Most of the furniture was bundled up one end and covered in the ubiquitous sheeting, but there was a big saggy old couch against one wall, a faded emerald in colour, and a small table by one side of it. There was an ashtray on the table in which Ethan could make out ancient cigarette butts amongst the dust. There was also an ancient candle on an old chipped saucer and a matchbox.

"Oh, Ripper," Ethan said admiringly. "You naughty, naughty little boy."

"Had a touch of the rebel in you even back then, eh?" Ian said, looking around approvingly.

Rupert inclined his head. "I was well on my way to corruption before I fell in with a bad crowd." He smiled at Ethan, leaving no doubt who the bad crowd was.

Ethan waited for Rupert to put the bottles down on the table and then took his hand. Spontaneously, he reached out for Ian's hand as well. He pulled them down onto the sofa on either side of him. The seat sunk under their weight, releasing a cloud of dust with a quiet 'whuff' noise, and he laughed, feeling very young in the best possible way.

Giddy ran right into the cloud of dust and sneezed loudly, which only made Ethan laugh more.

Rupert was looking at him. "I'm beginning to wonder if you haven't already had enough."

Ethan stuck his tongue out at Rupert. "I'm having fun, and so should you be." He handed Ian back his little bag. "Would you care to do the honours?"

With a smile and a flourish, Ian pulled out three joints and deftly lit them. His eyes half-closed in pleasure as he handed one each to Ethan and Rupert. "This is some good stuff, if I do say so myself."

Ethan had to agree. He slumped into the sofa, tipping his head back as the drug hit him. Rupert and Ian were warm on either side of him, the sofa's dimensions pushing them close together. His head spun pleasantly, and he laughed again, feeling really rather extraordinarily happy. "Doesn't this take you back, Ripper?"

"It does indeed. Enough of this and I might even let you try to fly something." He leant more heavily against Ethan. "I wonder whatever happened to our old tin of tricks?"

That somewhat soured Ethan's mood. "I burnt it," he said bluntly. "Along with everything else."

Rupert stilled at that, managing to lift his head enough to study Ethan's face. "You burned...?"

Another hand found its way to Ethan's shoulder in a comforting grasp; Ian, providing what support he could.

Ethan took another deep drag of Ian's dope and wondered if he should tell. What good would details do Rupert, after all? They'd just distress him a quarter-century after it was too late to do anything about it. The confession had just slipped out while his attention was elsewhere. "Yes," he said slowly. "No biggie. You should come to the pub with us next time we go, Ripper. The clientele seem to come straight out of a Hammer Horror; I expected them any moment to start warning us not to go up to the big house. And the beer–"

"Ethan." Rupert brushed a hand lightly against Ethan's cheek. "Tell me."

"You really won't like it."

The ghost of a smile touched Rupert's lips. "Yes, I've already figured that much out."

Ethan sighed, his eyes closed. The touch of both men was reassuring, but... He sighed again. "Promise me you won't be angry at your Gran. It wasn't her fault, not really."

That seemed enough for Rupert to figure out some of what Ethan wasn't telling him. "This was after she sent you away then."

Pressing his head back into the sofa, Ethan kept his eyes tightly shut. "I, um, went a bit loopy. Didn't, as you might say, cope that well." He took another drag of the slim joint and this time left it between his lips.

Rupert didn't say anything, just brushed his fingers against Ethan's cheek again, the gesture full of regret, apology, and reassurance.

Ethan knew better, however, than to think he'd be allowed to shut up now. Best just get it out quickly. "I spent the few days left before Christmas visiting each of our friends in turn and behaving abominably. Got myself beaten up more than once. Made sure none of them would ever take me into their homes again. Then I... Then I bought a can of petrol and committed arson. Which is why I don't have any mementos from those days. Can we talk about something else now? This is not so much bumming my trip as killing it stone dead."

Rupert pulled back and took a deliberate and heavy pull on his own joint before leaning over, removing Ethan's joint from his lips, and kissing him deeply. The potent smoke drifted between their open mouths. Ethan felt the hit together with an extra tingling; Rupert had imbued it with a touch of his own magic as well. "Better?" Rupert asked when he finally pulled back, eyes dark and dilated from the drug's effect.

"Much." Ethan slumped against Rupert, resting his hand and forearm on Rupert's nearest thigh and letting the tension that had quickly built leave his body just as quickly. He smiled apologetically over at Ian. "Sorry about the unexpected true confessions."

Ian waved the apology away casually. "Don't worry about it at all, my boy. One of the things that happen with altered states of consciousness." He took a hit from his joint and added, seemingly as an afterthought, "And fire is quite a common reaction."

Ethan studied him and asked very gently, "Is it?"

"Oh yes. My immediate predecessor for what we are immolated herself when her partner was killed." Ian took another long slow deliberate puff. "And I practically burnt down an entire village."

Ethan heard himself make a little noise in his throat and felt Rupert's arm around his shoulders tighten, pulling Ethan against his chest. He took his joint back from Rupert's hand and thought about what Ian had revealed, remembering the dark time when it had finally hit home that Rupert really was gone. "Ian, has there always been people like the Coven watching over the young Guardian pairs?"

"There have always been those whose gift, or curse, it is to know things others don't," Ian replied easily enough, shrugging.

"Why do they let this happen to us then?" Ethan found he was echoing Rupert's concerns from the other day. "Why don't they find us when we're young, protect us, help us...?"

"Because that's not the way it's done." It was Rupert who answered, voice bitter. "If you read the prophecies, you can track them, guide them, but you never get directly involved. Never try to change things for the better."

"Letting children, or adults hardly grown into their skin, die or commit murder, or worse, because you believe people should be allowed to make their own mistakes is... is... " Ethan didn't finish, mainly because he hadn't a clue what was right or wrong here.

"Council policy," Rupert finished bluntly. "Or at least it was."

"The Coven is not the Council." Ethan had always believed his life was his own to bugger up as he pleased, and that it should be so. Yet had they had help and protection when they'd needed it, even if it had been forced upon them... Oh, he simply wasn't wise enough to work this one out.

Both dogs, sensing their masters' distress, came close, making contact with human legs or hands, expressing sympathy and support in their canine way.

"The Coven wasn't powerful enough to stand up to Vaurtain," Ian said softly.

"Did they try?" Ethan asked after a long pause during which he finished his joint.

"Not in anyone's living memory." Ian took another long drag. "But yes."

Ethan looked down. "This boys-get-stoned-together jaunt is turning out to be a lot less fun than I'd anticipated." What the hell, he might as well ask the question that had been worrying him for months. "So, you two wiser than me types, are we really saying that the things I did while without Rupert were necessary because only by living in the enemy's camp was I –and therefore the prophecy– safe? The people I... hurt. They were... What's that handy American euphemism? Necessary Collateral Damage?"

No one answered him. Ian avoided his gaze, looking instead down at the joint in his hand. Rupert tugged on his shoulder, turning him more fully into an embrace.

"Fuck," Ethan muttered quietly, swallowing. He wriggled around in Rupert's arms and leant over him to stub his tiny roach out in the old ashtray. With determination, he grabbed one of the hand-sized bottles of whisky before he settled back down, opening it. He was quite prepared to get completely sodding pissed.

"I think," Rupert said, running a hand soothingly over Ethan's chest, "that we've lost the knack of getting stoned."

"We're 'old men, toughened by life's scars,' remember. Thick and impermeable as old leather, us." Tipping up the bottle, Ethan took several gulps, hardly feeling the burn, then passed it to Ian.

"You've reached an age of experience, yes," Ian said, "but you're hardly old men. That's not a description that will ever be apt for you two." He took a long drink.

"What the hell does that mean?" Ethan asked crossly as he waited to get the bottle back.

Ian's answer was typical Coven-cryptic. "Sometimes magic can stand outside of time."

Ethan stared at his mentor long and hard, and he was suddenly at the end of his tether with all the angst, uncertainty, and constant half-repressed fear. This wasn't him. Really.

He was going to enjoy tonight. Most of it had already been good, and this last few minutes was just a... an aberration. Letting a smirk curve his lips, he said to Rupert behind him, "I suggest we consider a new tactic for these closed mouthed Coven types. Asking questions just makes them worse. So I suggest... tickling."

"Tickling?" Rupert echoed, laughter in his voice.

"Yes, tickling," Ethan repeated, narrowing his eyes at a laughing Ian, who clearly didn't believe he was in any danger. In a sudden movement, Ethan surged up from his half-recumbent position against Rupert and threw himself on top of Ian. He proceeded to tickle every not-too-intimate area of the man, shamelessly tweaking patterns wherever he touched.

For a moment, he had the upper hand. Then Ian started tickling him back.

"Ripper!" Ethan called urgently, trying to protect himself as he rolled back onto the sofa. "You're meant to be helping me!"

"Oh no," Ian told him, redoubling his efforts. "This is between you and me, boy. You started it, and I will finish it." Ethan glanced once more at Rupert only to receive a half-apologetic shrug.

Ethan was tweaking patterns wildly, his own to try to stop the excruciating sensations, and Ian's to make his worse, but Ian of course was doing the same and apparently was better at it. "Sod it!" Ethan complained between pretty much helpless bursts of laughter. He wiggled furiously under his mentor, but help was at hand. A black and white tornado landed on top of Ian and proceeded, it seemed, to try to lick the older man into submission.

"Good dog!" Ethan asserted loudly. "Excellent hound." He began to squirm down the sofa and off the edge, Ian still more or less on top of him

Ian laughed at Skunk's attentions and tried to squirm away from the puppy. He didn't relinquish his hold on Ethan, however. In exasperation, Ethan twisted his body and bit one of Ian's hands. Hard. Ian jerked his hand away and pulled back cursing.

Rupert was still sitting on the sofa quite obviously trying not to laugh at the antics he was watching. Ethan slipped to the floor and leant against Rupert's legs. He smirked up at Ian, licking his lips. "Is that what they mean by eating crow, do you think?"

"It's what they mean by biting off more than you can chew," Ian shot back, sliding down to lean back against the bottom of the sofa beside Ethan. "Or it would be if I didn't like you so much."

"But you do, so I win." Ethan stuck his tongue out at Ian and waggled it salaciously, enjoying being able to act a six year old. He was slightly out of breath and feeling much happier, if a trifle silly. Skunk laid claim to the seat he'd vacated, panting loudly at Ethan's ear level, and he fondled her ears approvingly until he had a sudden thought. "Where'd that bottle go?"

Ian looked around, glancing up over Ethan's shoulder. "Your husband seems to have claimed it." Ethan turned his head to look upwards and saw Rupert with the bottle to his lips, his throat working as he took long swallows.

"We've driven him to drink," he said sadly. "Poor dear." He patted Rupert's leg comfortingly.

"What a shame," Ian said, shaking his head sympathetically. "Especially since it makes it more difficult for us to be driven to drink."

Ethan twisted around and rested his chin on Rupert's leg. He stroked a hand up the inner seam of Rupert's trousers and looked up at him beseechingly. Rupert lowered the bottle. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Always." Ethan stroked the hand up further and sent, ' _Do you mind me flirting with him? You know I would never... Not without..._ '

' _I know_ ,' Rupert sent back immediately. ' _I don't mind. It's good to see you laughing._ '

' _I love you,_ ' Ethan sent, feeling doting. Then he made a swipe for the whisky bottle.

Rupert pulled the bottle out of Ethan's reach, holding it above his head. "No."

Ethan mock-glared at him and then allowed a sly smile to form on his lips as he shuffled over to the other side of Rupert and gripped him around the ankle. "Ian? Take a leg, would you? There's a good man." Ian grinned at him before reaching out and grabbing Rupert's other ankle.

"Ethan, what are you–" Rupert began.

With a huge conspiratorial grin at Ian, Ethan said quickly. "One-two-three and..." And they yanked together, dragging Rupert rapidly down the sofa and off to land flat on his back on the floor. Whisky, of course, went everywhere, although particularly on Rupert. The dogs barked excitedly, and half-crippled by breathless laughter, Ethan made another lunge for the bottle.

Rupert again jerked it away, more liquid sloshing out at the abrupt movements. Then a truly evil expression came over his face. "Do you want the whisky?"

Bugger! Ethan knew that look. He held his hands up in a hurry, sitting back on his heels. "Now, Ripper. You don't want to do anything I wouldn't do, do you? Or for that matter, anything I would do..."

"No, no. You've made it very clear that you want the whisky, and far be it for me to deprive you." Moving quickly, Rupert tackled Ethan, pushing him down on his back, then poured the rest of the whisky bottle over his head.

Ethan kept his eyes tightly shut and spluttered curses as the alcohol hit his mouth. Rupert had one hand firmly pressing down on Ethan's shoulder, pinning him, while the rest him straddled Ethan's hips. When the stream stopped, Ethan twisted and wiped his face on Rupert's shirtsleeve. "Waste of good single malt, that," he grumbled.

"There's more where it came from," Rupert replied with a shrug. "There's another bottle on the table there, Ian, if you want some."

Ethan was, of course, now rather hard. Rupert overpowering him, holding him down, had a tendency to have that effect. Able to see now through still stinging eyes, he smirked up at Rupert and wriggled.

The evil smile reappeared on Rupert's face, and he said. "And who said this was going to go to waste?" With that, Rupert leant down and began licking the whisky from Ethan's skin.

Oh Christ. Ethan gasped quietly and then just tried to lie there as Rupert's tongue rasped over his face and neck, but he couldn't stop the shivers running through him or prevent his cock hardening further. "Bad, wicked, evil man," he muttered as his eyes closed in pleasure.

"When I need to be," Rupert murmured, the breath of his words hot puffs against Ethan's face.

Ethan heard Ian moving to the side of them, presumably to get himself the second bottle of booze. He wondered if he should feel bad about what was occurring here, or if Ian would enjoy another chance to watch Rupert in action. Because if Rupert proved to be drunk or high enough to actually truly start something here, Ethan really didn't want to stop him. And of course, being watched wasn't exactly a turn off.

He moaned softly, Rupert's activities making it difficult for Ethan to keep thinking about everything clearly, not that the various drugs in his system were helping there either. Moving into a place he knew well, a place of instinct and feeling more than thought, he moved one hand up to tangle lightly into Rupert's hair while the other reached out blindly for Ian to the side. Well, not quite blindly, as pattern sense meant Ethan knew full well where Ian was.

He could almost sense the hesitation in the air before Ian closed his hand around Ethan's. As Rupert continued to concentrate on cleaning up every drop of alcohol that had landed on Ethan, Ethan squeezed Ian's hand, the touch and the implicit willingness for, well, something, almost as much of a turn on as Rupert heavy above him, nuzzling and licking in the crook of Ethan's neck. "Ripper," he murmured. "My Ripper..."

Rupert lifted his head and stared down at Ethan for a moment with eyes dilated from drugs and desire before swooping in and ravishing his mouth. Groaning deeply in his throat, Ethan opened to Rupert's tongue, his fingers tightening in Rupert's hair. Rupert's weight was heavy over Ethan's hips, but that didn't stop Ethan squirming at least a little.

When they were both more than a bit breathless, Rupert pulled back just enough to grin and say, "Isn't this usually when you want to make something fly?"

Ethan opened his eyes wide. "I'm not flying?"

Rupert chuckled and gave him another nipping kiss. "You are so easy."

"Are you calling me a slut?" He tried to follow Rupert's lips as they were taken away again.

"Well, you're certainly not a prude."

Inadvertently almost, Ethan turned his face to look at Ian, who was watching with a slight smile on his face, but his eyes still looked sad. Ethan felt his face fall. "Oh Ian. Are we just tormenting you? I thought, I hoped..." He didn't finish as he hadn't really thought at all, and his hopes were probably unwise to state aloud. He rubbed Ian's palm with his thumb and looked up at the man's face.

"It is good to see the two of you together," Ian told him, squeezing his hand. "A victory of sorts."

' _Rupert?_ ' Ethan sent tentatively, unclear about what he was asking for.

Rupert turned his head to look at Ian for a long moment; then he turned back to meet Ethan's gaze. ' _I'm not sure what you want to give him, but..._ '

' _I don't know either. It's just... he's so alone._ '

Rupert studied Ethan. ' _You want to ask him to join us. This once._ '

Rupert understood Ethan better than Ethan understood himself. ' _Maybe. If it won't hurt you. Or him._ ' Ian was getting restless beside Ethan, clearly understanding there was a conversation to which he wasn't privy. Ethan squeezed his hand and said to him, "Feed me some of that whisky, would you?"

Ian obligingly shifted, letting go of Ethan's hand and sliding his behind Ethan's head to help raise it. "Try and get at least some of it on the inside of you," he teased as he brought the bottle up.

As Ethan carefully swallowed a few mouthfuls, he raised his hand to cup Ian's face, stroking lightly with the side of this thumb. ' _Tell me now, Ripper,_ ' he sent. ' _Either answer is fine, but I need to have one of them._ '

' _It won't be the first time we've shared, and this is for far better reasons,_ ' Rupert replied. ' _Do what you feel you should, love._ '

Should? Ha. Ethan had no idea what he should do, but he now knew what he would be doing. When Ian removed the bottle from Ethan's lips, Ethan met his gaze and said quietly, "Put the lid on the bottle, dear thing, then come here."

Ian frowned. "Ethan–"

"Shh," Ethan soothed, not letting their gazes part. "Just let it happen. Feel the patterns here, Ian. Feel the tide pulling you in and don't fight it."

Myriad emotions seemed to flash through Ian's eyes, but he put the bottle down and slowly moved back to the other two. Ethan cupped his face again, pulling him gently but inexorably down. Lifting his head, Ethan met lips with softly pressed lips. For the first few heartbeats, Ian simply let him, but then, almost hesitantly, he began to kiss him back.

Ian tasted of whisky, of course, and of the dope from earlier, but also of something more uniquely him, something that spoke to Ethan of the tangy feel of the air after a big electrical storm had passed.

Rupert, who was sitting back on his haunches, still straddling, shifted slightly. Ethan could only hope it was in arousal as he lifted one hand to stroke Rupert's thigh, while moving the other down from Ian's face to his neck. As he let his head drop slowly back to the floor, he pulled Ian down with him.

Ian shifted as needed to keep kissing Ethan as he moved, seeming both content to do just that and reluctant to lose the contact. Meanwhile Rupert covered Ethan's hand with his own and moved it to lie over his cock, wordlessly reassuring Ethan that it was most definitely arousal that he felt.

Ethan moaned; he couldn't help it. This was, almost unexpectedly, extremely hot. Hot and hard, judging by the bulge in Rupert's jeans that Ethan was now squeezing, or by his own erection that he couldn't stop himself rubbing upwards against Rupert's arse. And Ian... Ian lying warm along side him almost passively, and yet very much involved, very much included.

He hardened his tongue and darted it into Ian's mouth, finding the man's own and flirting with it, inviting it to come out and play. Ian's passivity vanished all at once as his tongue plundered Ethan's mouth, one hand sliding behind Ethan's neck to hold him in place.

Moaning again, Ethan let his hand on Ian drop further down, moving over his mentor's back and the harsh wool of the jumper he was wearing, and lower still, so that he could slip under it and find flesh. Ian felt almost feverish to the touch, and Ethan could feel the man's ribs through his skin, but there was muscle there too, hard and wiry.

In the meantime, he was rubbing Rupert's cock firmly with the heel of his hand and wanting things to go faster, further, but knowing that rushing things had always been his undoing.

Rupert's hands were wandering over Ethan's torso now, under his clothing, light touches with just a hint of magic. ' _Are you going to touch him too?_ ' Ethan sent, curious, even as his body reacted to every touch.

' _I'm not sure he'd want me to,_ ' Rupert replied, although Ethan could sense he was willing.

' _It would be very intense for him,_ ' Ethan agreed, his mental tone somewhat heated. ' _Christ, I'm so hard, Ripper. Can you feel me? I think you should come down here and kiss us both._ '

Rupert willingly slid up Ethan's body, pausing to trail kisses over his throat.

Ethan moved his hand back up to Ian's neck, holding him there, and finally tore their mouths apart so that he could kiss Rupert. He didn't let that go on too long, however, not wanting Ian to become restless, before he went back to kissing Ian. Ethan moved between the two pairs of lips, nipping, licking and kissing, and pulling the men closer and closer to each other.

Inevitably, it came to the point where Ian and Rupert were as close to each other as they were to Ethan, and it seemed as natural as breathing when they finally kissed.

It started slowly, tentatively, but quickly became heated. Ethan groaned deeply. Watching them, hearing the noises they made, feeling the patterns of their arousal, was driving him wild, but Rupert was heavy on top of him, limiting his movement, and Ian was pressed hard to his side. He was trapped below them, a thing both scintillatingly wonderful and hugely frustrating at the same time.

Eventually, Rupert and Ian pulled back and just stared at each other over Ethan's prone body. Then Ian slowly began to smile, which pulled an answering, Ripperish grin out of Rupert.

' _Tastes of me, doesn't he? Well, sort of._ ' Ethan sent, but aloud he said, "Now come, you two, don't neglect me."

"He's rather greedy," Rupert commented to Ian.

Ian nodded. "I have noticed that."

Ethan whined, writhing as much as his position would allow him to. "I don't think you understand just how erotic watching the two of you kiss really is. Feel free to do it again. A lot. But let me move. Please?"

Rupert looked down at him considering. "And what would you do if we let you move?"

"I don't know." Ethan smiled winningly at his captor. "Touch you maybe? Touch Ian? Touch myself?"

"All very intriguing suggestions," Rupert said. He glanced at Ian once again then rolled over onto his back taking Ethan with him.

"That's more like it." Ethan moved up onto his knees between Rupert's legs and smiled at Ian. "Give me your hand?" he asked, holding out his own. Ian raised a curious eyebrow, but did as he was bade. Slowly, giving both a chance to object, Ethan took Ian's hand and pressed it down over Rupert's trousered erection.

Rupert caught his breath, his eyes closing in pleasure, and Ian... Well, Ethan wasn't sure he could read the expression on Ian's face, but at least it wasn't sad.

"Ripper, dear." Ethan more or less purred, for he was feeling like a cat caught in the brightest, most delicious sunlight. "Would you warm the room up a little perhaps? So we can wear fewer clothes?" As he spoke, he watched Ian's face. He moved his hand firmly over Ian's, encouraging the man to rub and squeeze the lump he cupped.

"If I can concentrate enough," Rupert said, the humour in his voice not hiding the arousal. "Which is proving quite ha– difficult." The smallest of smiles crossed Ian's face in response to that, and Ethan felt him begin to touch Rupert more firmly.

"Oh. Oh yes." Ethan removed his hand from Ian's, confident the touch would now continue without him, and moved to be able to stroke Ian's upper body.

He kissed Ian briefly, but then allowed the man to concentrate on Rupert as he himself moved further down. Letting his hands wander where they would, inside of and out of clothes, moving firmly and fairly rapidly, Ethan set about an attempt to make Ian moan. As the room began to warm up, he pushed up Ian's jumper and shirt and bent to kiss softly in the hollow of the man's solar plexus.

It wasn't quite a groan, but the sharp gasp that action pulled from Ian was almost as good.

There was an obvious needy bulge in Ian's trousers, and Ethan, impatient as always, wanted to move straight there. He tried to delay a little longer, however, licking and kissing around Ian's belly, getting to know the texture and taste of his skin. Ethan looked up at one point, to check Ian was still happily pleasuring Rupert. He was, quite enthusiastically and with an avid look on his face as he rubbed through the denim, but he hadn't progressed beyond that.

Was Ethan really in charge here? It was an odd thought. "Undo his trousers and take him out, Ian," he instructed gently. He felt a shiver go through Ian's body at the order, but his mentor obeyed, unfastening Rupert's trousers with hands that were mostly steady.

Twin moans echoed through the room as Ian wrapped his fingers around Rupert's cock, skin to skin. Glancing between their faces, Ethan could see the action was affecting Ian as strongly as it was Rupert.

Christ, Ethan was hard. He moaned also and briefly moved his hand down to touch himself through his trousers in a vain attempt to quell his demanding cock. "You two are... beautiful. You... You're the point where the land meets the sea."

Ian tore his gaze away from what his hand was doing to look up at Ethan, the turmoil and power of the storm in his eyes. He stared at Ethan for several eternal seconds then swooped in and ravaged Ethan's mouth.

The passion and urgent response he felt to the kiss made Ethan weak. He fell back, so that his head was supported on the top of Rupert's thigh, and Ian came with him. Right by their faces as the fierce kiss continued, Ian's hand was working Rupert's cock. Ethan shuddered and reached down to the front of Ian's trousers, no longer able to resist.

At the first touch, the kiss if anything grew even wilder, the kind that Ethan felt he could drown in. Ethan was losing himself in it until Rupert's hand fell to his shoulder and pulled him away, yanking him around into a position where he could claim Ethan's mouth in turn.

The kisses were stealing his oxygen and whatever small sense he had left. Rupert had inadvertently pulled him away from Ian's cock, just as he'd been starting to get to know it. In a brief respite while Rupert caught his breath, Ethan panted out, "Strip, Ian. Please. Need you, need all of us, naked." Then Rupert claimed his mouth again.

It seemed like just a moment later that he felt hands at his waist, undoing his belt and trousers. It appeared Ian was expanding the request to strip to more than just himself.

Even the movement of the fabric over Ethan's swollen cock, as Ian tugged his trousers and pants down and off, was enough to make Ethan moan and writhe. If anyone were to touch him now, all would surely be lost. With a touch made clumsy by drugs and passion, Ethan tweaked his own patterns, making absolutely sure he couldn't come until he was ready.

He broke the kiss, pushing himself up as Rupert released him, and pulled off his tops. It was getting positively hot in this small room. Rupert followed suit, and Ian, it seemed, was already there. Ethan made an appreciative little growl, looking Ian over. The old man's wiry frame was trim and almost boyish, his long slender erection suiting his body perfectly.

"Want," Ethan muttered intensely, looking from his husband to his mentor and back again. Oh yes, he wanted. But where to first?

He was kneeling beside Rupert's hips and the proud cock was calling to him, but he wanted Ian too. Moaning, he said, "Ian, come here. Please. Share with me." And then he lay on his side half over Rupert's leg and raised up on his elbow with his face before the cock he loved so much.

He could feel Rupert's gaze on him, could feel Rupert tense, holding his breath as he anticipated the next move, could see Rupert's muscles twitch as Ian shifted to mirror Ethan's position. Ethan reached his hand up and cupped Ian's face again, reading the expression there – cautious but wanting. He stared into Ian's eyes for a few seconds then dropped his hand, curling his fingers around the base of Rupert's cock. "This is for both of us tonight. Share with me."

And he licked wetly up the long shaft, kissing the tip, before backing off a short way and telling Ian with his eyes that he wanted him to mirror his action. Slowly, Ian moved to do just that, holding Ethan's gaze until he finally lowered his eyes to look at Rupert's cock as he touched it with his tongue.

Ethan felt Rupert jolt slightly in response and felt the arousal patterns of all three of them respond. He grunted and moved back in, curling his fingers around the back of Ian's neck and kissing him around the head of Rupert's cock.

"Oh God," Rupert groaned, arching up into the touch; when Ethan glanced up at him, he looked the very picture of wanton abandon.

Ian seemed to be encouraged by Rupert's reaction, and together they set about driving Rupert wild, moving between kissing each other fully and taking turns in going down on Rupert. The sight of Rupert's shaft disappearing inside Ian's mouth was almost more than Ethan could take, and each time it happened, he groaned and pressed himself against Rupert's shin.

' _Ripper, Ripper..._ ' he said, his thoughts wild and barely coherent. ' _I can't stay the one in charge here. I'm too..._ ' He made a frustrated noise and dived down Ian's body, pushing at his hips and forcing Ian to twist his lower half more flat to the floor. As he took Ian into his mouth, he sent, 'Please. Christ, please.'

He got the groan out of Ian he'd been trying for earlier, which, since the man still had Rupert's cock in his mouth, pulled an echoing groan from Rupert. ' _I- I don't think anyone's in charge here,_ ' Rupert replied, his mental voice shaky with the sensations running through them; their mental exchange carried a ghost of those feelings.

' _I... Well, you both kept doing what I told you..._ ' Ian's cock felt so different from what Ethan was used to. He tried to concentrate, learn what would pull noises and movements from Ian and what didn't work for him, but he was finding it difficult. No one was touching him, and the frustration was becoming immense.

He felt Rupert trying to grab him. ' _Come here,_ ' he bade Ethan, even his mental voice a growl. ' _Want to taste you._ '

If Ethan had had any brain cells left to think with, he would have wondered at how their link seemed to be becoming as much empathic as telepathic these days. Soon there would never be any secrets from each other. Not that there really were now, only in the short time it took to tell things in.

All three of them wriggled and adjusted their positions until they formed a triangle on the floor. Then just as Ethan was taking Ian's length back into his mouth, he felt Rupert's lips touching his own cock. It was like a circuit being completed. The touch was like a lightning strike through his nerves.

Whatever one of them did, it seemed to reverberate through all of them, each movement, each feeling echoing from one to the next until they were all moaning and trying not to writhe under the sensations. It wasn't exactly comfortable. The floor was hard, and they were having to twist their bodies and hold their legs at odd angles. But Ethan didn't give a damn as this would more than likely never happen again, and he wanted to make the most of every moment.

He took Ian in deep, sucking him down into his throat and holding his breath while he swallowed around the shaft. Pulling back to gasp in air as Rupert did something particularly wonderful to him, Ethan then slipped his hand between Ian's legs to play over sensitive skin. Ethan was pretty sure his magic wouldn't be a stimulus on its own for Ian; they were too similar in their nature, but he could and did pattern-tweak to intensify the feelings, dragging deep and muffled groans from his mentor.

Rupert's hands began to wander over Ethan as well, fingers trailing magic over his most sensitive areas, finally brushing over the opening to his body.

' _Yes,_ ' Ethan sent urgently. ' _Please._ ' He realised as he formed the words in his head that he was missing the talking, albeit rough and staggered, that normally went on between him and Rupert at times like this. Well, not times precisely like this as their mouths were rather full currently to hold a conversation of any kind. But Ian had hardly said a word so far as if afraid of breaking a spell, and apart from exclamations of pleasure, Rupert hadn't been any better.

Ethan pulled back from Ian's length long enough to say, "This isn't a sodding library, you know," and then allowing magic to form around his finger as lubricant, he pushed inside Ian.

Ian made a sound that was halfway between a groan and Ethan's name. "God, yes," he muttered, his voice so transformed with his need that Ethan barely recognised it.

The heaviness of Ian's voice made Ethan thrust his hips inadvertently, and he heard Rupert gag a little. ' _Sorry, dearheart, sorry. Oh, he's hot and tight, Ripper. You'd like it inside him..._ ' Ethan paused, thinking about that as he began to finger-fuck Ian. ' _I'd like to see that_.'

Rupert's fingers tightened around Ethan's thigh in response to that; obviously the idea more than appealed, but his mental voice was hesitant when he replied. ' _I'd like to do that for you to see, but only if Ian wants it._ '

Ethan snorted, which sounded rather strange with his mouth filled with one of Ian's balls and his nose pressed against skin. ' _Of course he bloody wants it._ '

Rupert gave a bark of laughter, vibrating along the length of Ethan's cock. ' _You mean you bloody want to see it._ '

Ethan pulled back enough to look up at Ian, whimpering a bit at the sight of the enthusiastic blowjob Rupert was getting. As he very deliberately pushed a second finger inside Ian, he asked, "Ripper wants to shag you, old crow. You'd be up for that, wouldn't you?"

He felt the shiver that went through Ian at both the question and his actions, but he gave Ethan a cocky look as he looked down at his own body. "It would appear that I'm up for practically anything right now."

Ethan licked the glistening top of Ian's cock and grinned up at him. "So you are." And then because he couldn't help himself, he added, "If Lucy could see us now..."

Rupert choked back laughter while Ian chuckled. "Knowing the good Miss Harkness, she wouldn't bat an eyelid."

"She'd probably try to correct our techniques." Ethan pushed a third finger into Ian and twisted them. "How's my technique, mentor mine? Finding it lacking at all?"

Ian's eyelids fluttered as his head fell back in pleasure. "You're doing... just fine... m'boy."

Feeling smug, Ethan sucked on the head of Ian's cock as his fingers worked. ' _Come over here, Rupert,_ ' he sent. ' _Come and watch, and then take over._ '

Rupert took long enough to send one last powerful surge of magic through his fingers against Ethan's balls before pulling away and shifting around behind Ethan to watch. Shuddering from the magic, Ethan adjusted his position so that Rupert could get closer. Ian was flat on his back now, his legs spread, and panting quietly. Ethan slowly pulled his fingers out. "Let him taste your magic, Ripper," he said softly.

Looking from Ethan to Ian, Rupert slowly reached out and brushed his fingers along Ian's cock in a light caress. There was obviously magic in his touch, judging by the way Ian cried out and writhed beneath Rupert's hand.

"Oh. Oh yes, Ripper, that's lovely. Keep going, please." Ethan bit his knuckle while he watched, for the moment content not to take an active role.

Rupert glanced at him with a teasing smile. "You plan on playing director?" he asked, even as he took a firmer grip on Ian's cock, making the older man whimper and moan.

"What would you rather I do?" Ethan asked distractedly as he watched Rupert's hand, but then he focused on what they were saying and looked around to meet Rupert's gaze. "You could direct me. Tell me to do... interesting things."

"I could..." Rupert started consideringly, only to be interrupted by Ian.

"Or you could move closer, and I could do interesting things to you." Ian's voice was thick and almost raw with passion. Ethan glanced at Rupert, and seeing nothing but love and lust in the grey-green eyes, he crawled up beside Ian's body to kneel at his head.

"How do you want me? I'm yours to position."

"Simple is best," Ian said reaching out to guide Ethan's movements into straddling his head, facing down. "Makes it less likely this old man will strain his neck."

Ethan let himself be manoeuvred, unsure exactly what Ian wanted. He kept himself a little above Ian, not wanting to smother him. Ian's hands slid from Ethan's hips to his buttocks, and then fingers slipped between his buttocks, separating them. Ethan looked across to Rupert, who was still fisting Ian's cock, and gasped as he first felt the tongue slide over him. "Christ..." This was something he did to Rupert often, but he hadn't had it done to him for a sodding age. "Oh, Ian..." He fell forward onto his hands and panted.

He felt Rupert touch his face and glanced up to see that Rupert was watching him hungrily. "You wanted to see," he reminded Ethan, shifting Ian's and his positions, his intent obvious.

Ethan groaned. He was long enough in his body that he was going to get a front-of-stage view of what was about to happen. He tightened his controls over his own arousal again, not trusting his ability to control anything at all once Rupert started.

Even if he'd been struck deaf and blind, Ethan would have known the moment that Rupert slid into Ian's body; the surge in the patterns swirling around the three of them was unmistakable. And it was more than just simple arousal; there was also an overwhelming sense of rightness, of puzzle pieces clicking together. Chaos and Order, Ethan realised; it held as true for Rupert with Ian as it did for Rupert with him.

And of course, he being neither blind nor deaf, the sight of Rupert's cock slipping slowly in and out of Ian's body was like the very best porn. Well, considerably better actually. It was the porn of his dreams. Ian's tongue had stopped licking, unsurprisingly, and Ethan felt fingers digging hard into his hips as if Ian was holding on for dear life.

He glanced up to Rupert's face, reached out to cup it. "Oh, Ripper. So very beautiful..."

Rupert held his gaze for long seconds, then slid a hand behind Ethan's head and pulled him to him, kissing him desperately.

At some point into the consuming kiss, Ethan felt Ian's hands relax, and then Ethan was being moved, repositioned slightly. It became clear why as he felt a mouth on his cock again. He groaned happily into Rupert's mouth.

'I want to see your mouth on him,' Rupert sent, still licking and nipping at Ethan's lips.

Nodding slightly, Ethan dropped to lean on his elbows, whimpering slightly as the movement caused his cock to scrape Ian's teeth. This was no time for hesitancy or foreplay. He took Ian's shaft deep into his mouth and began to work it.

Details began to get fuzzy then as Ethan, as all of them got lost in each other and the pleasure that swelled and built between them. Ian was as much a part of it as Ethan and Rupert, more so really, for once the centre that everything was focused on.

Ethan almost felt as if Ian and he were a single entity being fucked by Rupert, and yet at the same time, he was very aware of Ian below him, writhing and moaning, allowing his mouth to be gently, and sometimes not so gently, fucked by Ethan. Ian was full of them, of Rupert and Ethan, he was the conduit between them and sharing everything they had to give.

For tonight, at least. No, he quickly banished that last thought. What would happen later could wait until later. Right now, there was the joy of all being together like this, and oh Christ, the incredible patterns of their joined climaxes appraoching now, rushing down on them. Ethan felt Rupert's belly pressing against his head as he thrust fiercely into Ian, and strangely, it was that sensation which was most clear to Ethan as the tidal wave of pleasure hit, lifting them all up and carrying them screaming, their bodies helpless to resist the primal force.

There was a time of timelessness, if such a paradox could exist, and when Ethan came back to himself, they were all lying sprawled on the floor and each other. An overwhelming feeling of smug satedness seemed to permeate the entire room.

He untangled his limbs and rolled onto his back, still feeling the occasional aftershock. "I think," he said slowly, savouring the words, "that you'll both be forced to agree now that I'm a genius."

"No," Rupert replied just as slowly, reaching out and sliding his fingers languorously through Ethan's hair. "Just uninhibited."

"Rather a duty, that. Wouldn't you say, Ian? Breaking through boundaries, going where whim takes us, is that not our sacred duty?"

Ian stretched slowly and languidly. "I'm fairly certain that this was not written in any prophecy," he said, but then added in a warmer voice, "but I am honoured you sought to include me."

"You're one of us, of what we are." It seemed very simple to Ethan at that moment.

"This was a bit more of a connection than I ever considered there being," Ian said with dry humour.

Ethan wasn't sure he entirely believed that. He suspected quite strongly that Ian had at least fantasised at times; Ethan knew he himself would have done, and while Ian and he were not twins, they were, well, brothers in a sense.

"No regrets?" he asked the room softly.

"No regrets," Rupert said solemnly, reaching for both men's hands.

He felt a wash of love for Rupert almost as strong as the orgasm that had so recently taken him. Stronger in the ways that counted. He stared into Rupert's eyes for several long seconds before turning to Ian. "No regrets, old crow?"

Ian smiled at him, and his eyes were freer of shadows than Ethan had seen in a long time. "No regrets. Quite the contrary."

Ethan felt his face fill with a glow of something pretty damn close to joy. He closed his eyes, using pattern sense to locate Ian's hand, taking hold of it and completing the circuit again. With a deep sigh that turned into something suspiciously like a yawn, he said,

"Been a good evening, all in all."


	10. Chapter 10

Giles opened one eye and blearily looked at the sunlight falling through the parted bed-curtains.

He had no idea what the time was, but it only seemed like five minutes ago that he and Ethan had staggered back to their room from their night with Ian. The dawn sun had already been brightening the room when they arrived, but they'd just pulled the curtains tight around the bed and collapsed into each other's arms. Clearly the dogs, who were now curled up together at the foot of the bed, had opened them again since.

The three of them had chatted drunkenly throughout the night, sitting close to each other and touching a lot. They had taken turns in the middle of the huddle without any deliberation to do things that way; it just happened that that was how things went. The mood had been exceptionally mellow, and they had, all three of them, spoken about their youth, Ian sharing many hilarious tales of his antics with Derek. Giles had laughed at the time, but with hindsight, the stories seemed a little tragic.

There had been more smoking, more drinking, and rather a lot of kissing, and in some ways, it had felt very much like his old London days with Ethan. The acceptance and relaxed atmosphere had been the same at the very least. When Ian had finally staggered to his feet and announced he wanted to see the inside of his sheets before breakfast, Giles had half-expected the older man to accompany him and Ethan back to their bedroom. But Ian had left on his own.

Giles turned his head enough to look at Ethan; he lay against Giles' shoulder still asleep. Watching Ian leave alone had only driven home just how lucky the two of them were to have found each other again. Things could have been so very different.

Ethan stirred. His eyes didn't open, but his hand was dragged up to wipe his mouth, and then he grunted and nuzzled at Giles. "Gobacktosleep," he mumbled.

Giles smiled; Ethan was so very in tune with him now. He dropped a kiss on Ethan's forehead. "Not sure I can, but I'm content to just lie here and watch you."

There was a pause, and then, "You brooding?"

"Actually rather the opposite," Giles replied. "I'm counting my blessings."

"Most people count sheep." Ethan pulled back a little and opened a single eye.

He smiled, feeling whimsical. "Most people don't have an Ethan."

The other eye opened, and Ethan smiled sleepily at him. "You have a very sticky, smelly Ethan currently. I smell as if someone has poured whisky all over me. Can't think why."

"You were asking for it," Giles said serenely.

Ethan's eyes opened wider. "Do I always get what I ask for?"

"That depends."

"Do I get a kiss? Despite the aforementioned odour de distillery?" As Giles obligingly touched his lips to his lover's, Ethan combed the fingers of one hand through the hair at Giles' temple. "Do you want to talk about last night?"

"What exactly about last night?" Giles asked, closing his eyes briefly in pleasure at Ethan's touch.

"Any of it really." Ethan gave a little shrug; then he grinned. "You haven't told me off about falling in the river yet."

"Mm." He nuzzled Ethan's neck. "Perhaps later. I'm feeling too agreeable to lecture effectively right now."

Ethan was quiet as Giles kissed his neck, tipping his head to the side obligingly, but then he asked, "Felt like me, didn't he?"

Ah, Ian. "In some ways, yes," Giles replied quietly. There had certainly been more than a hint of familiarity in kissing and touching Ian, more so when Giles added his magic.

"It's strange how much family I suddenly have," Ethan said thoughtfully. "After sod all deserving the name for so long, I now seem surrounded by kindred of one kind or another. He believes he's going to die soon, you know. I think Keri must have predicted something. Do you think he was the sundered pair survivor your Gran met?"

When Ethan slipped so rapidly between tangents, it was hard to know which to answer. Luckily, Giles had had enough experience that he was able to go with the flow, answering the last question and keeping the first comments in mind to come back to. "I'm almost certain he is. I'm fairly sure if there had been another survivor at Devon we would have heard about it by now."

"I'm unclear when Derek died," Ethan admitted. "Do you think it was before we met? Would we still have been drawn to each other if there had still been a complete pair in existence?"

"Yes," Giles replied, absolutely certain on that point.

Ethan seemed to be focused on the canopy roof, although his fingers still moved restlessly through Giles' hair. "Would we still have been, well, us? Can there be two pairs coexistent?"

"We would have been us. The magic, the... guardianship... while indisputably a part of us, is far from the whole."

Ethan hadn't exactly been talking loudly, but now became quieter still. "I wouldn't like to think that we only exist as a partnership thanks to Ian's torment and loss."

Giles pulled him into a closer embrace. "We don't. I promise."

Ethan went very willingly, pressing his body against Giles' and maximising the skin-contact. He took one of Giles' hands in his, however, and pressed it to the top of his arm. Ah, where the brand of the badger was.

Letting his fingers trace the outline of the magical brand, Giles thought about the night before and the one great epiphany that had come out of it for him. "You're right," he said softly. "Ian does feel like you -- I can even say that the Chaos in him attracts me to him the same way it does to you. But you're still different."

"Well, we're not twins," Ethan agreed, clearly not understanding what Giles had meant.

"No, you're not," Giles agreed, nuzzling. "You're the one I'm in love with."

Ethan pulled back and gave him a puzzled look. "What am I missing here?"

"Ian has all the same Chaos attractions for me that you do. But I'm not in love with him." He pulled back enough to meet Ethan's eyes. "I love you because of who you are, not because of what you are."

It seemed to take another few seconds for the confusion of Ethan's face to fade, and then he made a high-pitched sound and buried his face against Giles' shoulder. "You do this deliberately," he said, his voice muffled.

"I do what deliberately?" Giles asked, stroking Ethan's shoulders gently.

There was a mumble that was possibly, "...be wonderful..." Giles smiled. It never failed to amaze him how he was seen by Ethan. In Ethan's eyes, he was far better man than he'd ever be in reality. He always had been, in one way or another. After a longish cuddle, Ethan pulled back. "I can't stand the stink of myself, dearheart. Come and get clean with me?"

"You just want me to make sure there's hot water," he teased, but willingly got up with Ethan.

"Can't say I'm all that enamoured with cold currently. If you hadn't rescued us yesterday, I'd be missing extremities currently." They headed into the bathroom, and Ethan got into the shower, but he waited for Giles to turn it on. As he had done every morning after their first one here.

Giles turned the dial, sending a small charge of magic through the pipes warming the water as it began to flow. "Yes, you never have explained how you and Ian ended soaked to the skin."

"Hit a root," Ethan said, moving under the spray and smiling happily as the water hit him.

"I'm still failing to see the connection," Giles replied, doing his best to keep his expression stern.

"The boat hit a root; we were rather close to the bank, you see. I did a quite spectacular dive."

Giles, knowing well Ethan's misadventures in the past, could picture such a dive, but that still left the question, "The boat?"

Ethan had filled his hands with showergel and now started to wash Giles, his hands slipping sensually over Giles' chest and arms. "The boat we borrowed."

This was certainly starting to sound like the kind of thing that had led to all sorts of excitement back when they were young. "Am I correct in assuming this was borrowing without permission?"

"The rope was fraying. We did the owners a favour really and drew attention to their non-existent security." Ethan's head was bowed as he rather distractingly lathered over Giles' belly and below, but Giles was fairly sure that despite the oh-so-reasonable tone, Ethan was smirking wickedly.

"You and Ian are bad influences on each other."

Ethan looked up, his expression more or less serious now. "We both needed some... lawlessness. All things considered, I think we were quite restrained."

"Funny," Giles said, remembering the rest of the night. "Restrained is not the word I would use."

Ethan's hands stilled. "Are you seriously pissed off?"

Giles shook his head. "I probably should be, but..."

"It was only a small boat, and we left it unharmed, just downstream a bit. I love you." Ethan wasn't even trying to be subtle in his cajoling, it seemed. His hands started moving again, turning Giles to wash his back. "And it was brilliant; you should have been there. We were controlling it with magic and going so damn fast and smoking as we did so. All that was missing was you being there."

"I think I'm glad to have passed on the midnight swim," Giles said wryly. "But the rest of the night, that I'm happy to have been included in."

"That wouldn't have ever happened without you, dearheart... Um, you do know that, don't you?" Ethan moved back around to look at Giles again, his expression uncertain.

"I do." Giles gave him a reassuring smile. "I've never worried about you and Ian that way. I'm just worried about you getting into other kinds of trouble, like stealing a boat."

"Ian stole an oil tanker once," Ethan said with a cheeky grin.

"Please tell me you don't feel the need to top him."

Ethan giggled. "Oh, I'm a lousy top. You know that."

"I don't know – you've certainly shown potential at times," Giles replied contemplatively. "But that wasn't what I meant. I'm not going to find you coming home with an aircraft carrier, am I?"

"Too samey," Ethan said, which was far from reassuring. "Are you going to let me do your hair?"

Giles turned back around to make it easier for Ethan to do so. "It was dangerous, what you did," he said softly.

"That was rather the point," Ethan replied, equally softly. "But there's no need to say the rest of it. I can hear it from my own conscience, which seems to be making up for all those years I kept it muzzled. I'll try not to take such risks in the future." He sounded sincere if rather glum about the prospect. Giles felt soapy fingers slip into his hair and start to massage.

Ethan was certainly relaxing him, but Giles couldn't quite let the subject at hand go without clarification. "It's not so much the boat ste– borrowing as the operating of said boat while under the influence. You could have hit something far more dangerous than a root."

"Yes, I understood what you were objecting to." Ethan was starting to sound tetchy, although his touch remained gentle on Giles' scalp. "I can hardly berate you for taking risks with yourself when I'm doing the same and just for kicks. Message received and understood. Can we move on now?"

"Perhaps, when this," Giles made a vague gesture meaning the prophecy and all that came with it, "is all over, we can go joy-riding some night in... something. Whatever we can find. And then drink and smoke when we get back home, just like we did last night."

Ethan waited until the shampoo was rinsed from Giles' hair before replying. "That would be nice... If this is ever going to be over, which sometimes I find myself doubting. But don't take any notice of me, Rupert. I'm grumbling for the sake of grumbling, I think. You know I'm happier now than I ever have been. Truly."

"I know." He smiled and turned back around to face Ethan. "Me too. I think what it might be this morning is that last night was like the best of the old days."

That won a warm smile from Ethan as he began to wash himself. "Yes, yes it was. Of course, back then we seemed to almost enjoy the morning after headaches, which I'm not finding so easy today. Although," he added thoughtfully, "it's not half as bad as it really should be. I wonder if Ian's horticultural enhancements include a pre-dose of hangover cure."

"It's possible," Giles said, batting Ethan's hands away and taking over washing him. "We should see if we can get some more, just to have it on hand. For... emergencies."

Ethan chuckled. "He's still in there, isn't he? My Ripper. Does my heart good to see him occasionally." He seemed to see something in Giles' expression he didn't like. "Oh, don't. Don't look like that. You know I love everything of you, even the bits that get cross with me."

"It's all me, you know," Giles said, not for the first time. It had taken a long time to reconcile himself to what he'd spent too much of his life thinking of as almost a separate personality. "There's not one Rupert and one Ripper. It's all just me."

Ethan shrugged. "We all have sides, aspects. Myself included."

"I know." He leaned in to kiss Ethan briefly. "I've always known that about you, even when you didn't."

Eyes shut as Giles washed his cock and balls, Ethan sighed contentedly. "Well then, doesn't the teenage rebel in you exalt to catch glimpses of the boundary pusher I was then?"

"I'd say the boundary pusher is alive and well," Giles replied with a smile. "You've just found new boundaries to push."

Ethan nodded, opening his eyes and becoming serious. "I'm going to push one now."

"Oh?"

There was another nod from Ethan and a wry expression. "It's been a week. Why haven't you gone back to your grandmother's chest? Doesn't it go against all good Watcherly instincts to ignore such a potential goldmine of pertinent information?"

"We've been utilising the Council resources," Giles said. "Going through them first." Not that he had much hope that Ethan would let it lie with that explanation.

"Yes, I know what you've been doing; that's not what I asked, is it?" Ethan sighed softly and pulled Giles to him; the water cascaded down Giles' back. "Talk to me?"

Giles closed his eyes, relishing Ethan's closeness. "I don't know what to say," he finally answered. He wasn't sure he understood his reluctance himself; putting it into words seemed beyond him.

"I think," Ethan said slowly, his voice so low he was almost whispering in Giles' ear, "that as well as a teenage rebel inside you, there is a little boy who loved his Gran very much."

He remembered her arms around him, her strong voice spinning tales both real and fantasy that held him captivated. "Yes," he murmured.

"She loved you too. Everything that she did was because she loved you and was scared for you. I don't believe there will be anything in that chest to disprove that."

Giles shook his head, but couldn't quite bring himself to deny Ethan's words. "I don't want to find out that she was a stranger, that the woman I knew didn't really exist."

There was a pause while nothing much happened bar the water falling and Ethan's hands moving soothingly over Giles' back. Then Ethan said, "Giles the tweed-clad Watcher, Rupert my husband, Ripper the handsome rebel you don't want to get on the wrong side of – all you. Even if your Gran did have a side you never saw, that doesn't invalidate the aspects of her that you knew and loved."

That... made sense. It resonated with Giles in a way that shifted his whole perspective, at least enough so that the thought of going up to the attic and opening the trunk stopped making his stomach clench. "When did you get so wise?" he murmured, turning his face into the crook of Ethan's neck.

"I'm not, not about most things. Just about you." Giles felt the side of his head being kissed and nuzzled.

This was what was new since Ethan had come back into his life, Giles thought again. Not only having someone to share everything with, but also someone who he could lean on, where he didn't always have to be strong and in control. He sighed and tightened his hold on Ethan.

It was a special moment, but eventually, Giles pulled reluctantly back and began to wash Ethan's hair before his spell ran out and the water turned cold. As they finished their ablutions, and as they quickly dried themselves off, they were both silent, lost perhaps in the comfortable intimacy their communion had produced. The quiet continued as they took turns in front of the misted over mirror to shave. It was only as they were getting dressed that Ethan said, "Of course, it's all Xander's fault really."

Even as used as he was to following Ethan's strange tangents, Giles couldn't figure that one out. "I'm sorry...?"

Ethan paused in the act of pulling on his socks, perched on the edge of the bed. "Everything that happened last night. The blame for all of it can be laid firmly at the feet of Xander Harris, Watcher boy wonder."

Giles shook his head. "I don't..."

"Xander was the one I went drinking with, remember? It was meant to be just him and me, but he sodded off and left two old men helpless in the grip of wild impulse."

Giles stared at Ethan for a long moment. "That has got to be the most fantastic shifting of blame that I've ever heard."

"I'm serious!" Ethan claimed, looking anything but. "If Xander had stayed instead of going off to share germs with Kat, Ian and I wouldn't have gone boating. No boating would have meant no need to be rescued, and no car ride with our valiant knight protector would have meant no going up into your secret nursery. None of that would have happened if Xander had lived up to his responsibilities as a good mate."

"You really do have the most twisted mind I've ever encountered," Giles said admiringly, shaking his head.

"Thank you, dear." Ethan grinned. "You say the sweetest things."

***

"Christ, I'm starved," Ethan muttered beside Giles a little later as they walked into the kitchen together with their dogs, hoping for some very late breakfast.

"You're always starved," Giles teased, although he had to privately admit that he was feeling more than a bit peckish himself; the activities of the night before had used up a goodly amount of energy, after all.

Mrs Bobbrick was busy kneading dough, but she looked up as the dogs scampered around her feet excitedly. "Into the scullery, both of you!" she scolded good-naturedly. "I have some nice bits and pieces left from Sunday's roast saved up, but only for good dogs."

Gwydion immediately wuffed in his increasingly deep voice and dipped his head to Mrs B. It was probably coincidence, but he almost seemed to be, well, bowing. He barked loudly at Skunk, who was still bouncing and yapping, and then the two of them scampered out to the scullery.

Mrs B shook her head. "Good thing I'm used to strange goings on with all my years working for your parents, Mr Giles. Now I suppose you two'll be after a stacked plate of elevenses, much like the other one."

The 'other one' – Ian, no doubt. It looked like they were going to do the morning after encounter sooner than expected. Not that Giles was worried about there being any negative fallout, but you never could predict... All right, perhaps he was a little worried.

While he was busy not worrying about that, he answered Mrs. B, ordering breakfast for Ethan and him both, aware that his tone was polite, but a bit distracted.

She put the dough in a glass bowl and covered it with muslin. "Go and sit yourselves down in the dining room, boys. I'll feed your hounds then see to your needs."

"Thank you," Giles said automatically, heading back out of the kitchen, Ethan beside him.

Ethan's hand slipped into his, stopping him before he opened the dining room door. "It'll be all right, dearheart."

"I know," Giles said, believing that, truly. "I just have a few too many years' practice anticipating problems, I think."

Ethan snorted very softly at that, smiling. "I think you can let your training go on this one." He kissed Giles' cheek and then, without letting go of Giles' hand, opened the door.

Ian was sitting alone at the head of large table, determinedly working his way through a truly monolithically proportioned breakfast. He glanced up at the sound of the door opening and smiled. "I was wondering when you two slugabeds were going to put in an appearance."

Ethan squeezed Giles' hand hard before letting go, and then made his way to a chair on one side of Ian, pulling it out with a flourish and sitting down. He immediately stole a piece of toast from Ian's plate, grinning in that disarming way that Giles knew so well. "Morning, my feathered friend. Mrs B said we're to share your brekkie. That's all right with you, isn't it?" He bit into the toast.

"You try that again, and you'll be a three-legged fox," Ian shot back pleasantly with an answering smile. "I'm sure the inestimable Mrs B would never deny hungry boys their much needed sustenance."

"You'd be correct," Giles confirmed, taking the chair opposite Ethan's, on Ian's other side. "Although we seem to rate somewhere below Gwydion and Skunk in priority."

"Yes, the mutts get roast beef, and we are forced to forage from other people's plates." Ethan was openly eyeing Ian's food, despite the warning.

"Perhaps they're better at being ingratiating than you are," Ian suggested, eating a rasher of bacon with obvious relish.

Ethan shrugged. "I can't say I'm at ease with the idea of servants, or whatever the PC phrase is these days. Live-in domestic workers?" Giles watched as Ethan's hand slid across the table towards Ian's plate, only to be stopped dead as Ian's hand came down like a stabbing beak and fixed Ethan's wrist to the table. Ethan looked unrepentant. "Mmm, masterful," he purred at Ian.

"Brat," Ian said fondly, still holding onto Ethan's wrist as he ate with the other hand. He turned to Giles. "Have you ever thought of using some kind of restraints?"

The question quite probably should have surprised Giles far more than it did. "We have, actually."

"Don't encourage him, Ian," Ethan said, but he sounded amused. "Rupert's rather too fond of misusing his magic in uncomfortable ways as it is. Uncomfortable for me, that is."

"Really." Ian looked intrigued.

"Let's just say that he sees no need for metal or leather where bands of magic will do and leave it that. I'm sure you can imagine the rest. Can I have my hand back?"

"Are you going to keep it out of my food?"

"You could just be the kind, warm, generous soul I know you to be and feed me." Ethan sighed heavily then winked over at Giles.

"You must have me confused with someone else," Ian told him. "I'm the old but charismatic and charming man that the two of you wore to a shadow of my normal self last night. I would think you'd show more concern for the results of your handiwork."

Ethan stuck his tongue out. "Never seen your patterns looking stronger."

The door opened at that point, and Giles couldn't help but smile as Ethan eagerly spun around on his chair, twisting uncomfortably as his hand was still trapped by Ian. But it wasn't Mrs B and the piled high breakfast plates Ethan had obviously been anticipating. Instead, Dawn came into the room, looking rather startled to see the three of them in there.

"Dawn?" Giles asked. "Were you looking for someone?"

The girl's eyes flickered towards Ian, but she answered Giles, "Um, you?"

"You seem to have been successful in your quest," Ian said, smiling at her. "We're having a bit of a slow start this morning. Would you like to join us for a late breakfast? I'm sure Ethan will happily share his food when it comes."

There was some kind of scuffle under the table at that, which led to Ethan and Ian staring at each other, eyes blazing with mock-affront. Dawn looked nervously at them both and then turned her gaze to Giles. "Um, I had a dream." She didn't come any further into the room, and Giles could see now that she looked disturbed.

Giles pushed his chair back and held a hand out to her. "I take it that it was troubling?" he asked gently.

She nodded. Ethan and Ian had stopped their play fight and were looking at Dawn with concern. She came reluctantly over to the table and pulled a chair out a couple of places down from them. "I don't want any food."

"That's all right, my dear," Ian told her, his manner becoming gentler, more careful, although it was still casual enough to help put her at ease. "Eating with us is not mandatory. Would you like to talk about your dream?"

"Not really." Dawn looked glum. "But I think I should. It... Well, there was stuff in it. Prophecy stuff."

"Such as?" Ethan asked, his tone soothing.

"Such as that symbol. The one that was on that bag, remember, Giles?"

The bag that seemed to carry the very essence of dark chaos; Giles wasn't about to forget that. "I remember," he told Dawn. "In what context did you see it? Was it on something or attached to a place or a person?"

"On a person." Her voice was small. "On me."

"You said when you first saw it that it looked familiar. Perhaps your dreams are trying to tell you why." Giles glanced over at Ethan. "Perhaps you should tell her about the Chaos theory of existence?"

Ethan seemed to freeze in place and said not a word.

"Ethan?" That got Giles a pained look sent his way, but Ethan said nothing, not even through their mental link. ' _She needs to know, love,_ ' Giles sent. _'Especially since she seems to be the focus of it.'_

He saw Ethan glance towards Ian. _'Later perhaps?'_

_'Is there some reason you don't want to talk in front of Ian?'_

_'I, er,'_ Ethan stared at the top of the table. _'I don't know actually. I am probably being idiotic. It's just... old loyalties... which I've already broken. Meaningless now. I don't know why I'm...'_

"What's going on?" Dawn asked rather plaintively.

Ethan turned to her immediately. "I'm sorry. The silence is entirely my fault. Dawn–" He took a deep breath. "Some people believe that the universe, everything that exists, was created when a drop of primordial Chaos was introduced to the perfect Order of nothing. Without Chaos, which brought with it time, change, and ultimately, life, nothing that we know would exist. Just eternal perfect nothingness. The... um, tool used to introduce Chaos to Order, and to keep the mix just right, was the Logos, what many religions would call the Word of God. The Logos still exists and can be used by those who know how either to increase the amount of Chaos in the universe –breaking down the barriers between dimensions and distorting what we consider 'reality'– or to turn the balance towards Order – making for an increasingly limited, sterile existence."

She stared at him. "And you think that's me? You think the Logos... is the Key?"

He nodded once, his expression sympathetic.

"It's just an extension of what we already know about the Key's purpose," Giles put in, keeping his voice calm and logical. "Another telling of its –your– existence and importance."

She looked down. "In the dream, there was this door that I was trying to keep shut. Like I was leaning on it, but things, scary things were pushing through. And the Chaos symbol was on the back on my left hand, and another symbol was on my right hand." She looked up at Ethan. "Order, right?"

"Probably," he said. "Could you draw it?"

She nodded. "You both were there. You and Giles. You kept telling me that I had to let the door open, just this once, but I was scared because I knew there was a bad thing behind it. Like First Evil bad."

"In my experience, it always seems to be bad things behind doors in dreams," Ian put in. "There never seems to be happy things behind closed doors, fluffy bunnies and the like. Almost enough to give one a phobia regarding opening the things."

"We found Giddy behind a shut door," Ethan pointed out, although what relevance that had, Giles wasn't sure. "Did we say why we wanted you to open it?"

Dawn shook her head. "Just that it was really, really important. But I didn't want to. I knew that if I did..." She looked around the table, suddenly defiant. "If I did, I would die. I tried to tell you, but you didn't seem to care. Not in the dream, anyway."

"Dawn." Giles leaned forward, holding her gaze seriously. "That won't ever happen. Anything we need you to do, we'll explain all we know. And I promise, we care. We will always care about you, and we'll do all we can to keep you safe." He wanted to go further and promise they wouldn't put her at risk, but somehow those words wouldn't come.

She smiled weakly at him. Ethan opened his mouth to say something, but the door opened again at that moment, and Mrs B came in carrying two stacked plates of breakfast, the dogs trotting behind her. "Hello dear," she said to Dawn as she put the plates on the table. "Are you feeling peckish too?"

"She can share mine," Ethan said, making a rude gesture behind his back to Ian that the women wouldn't be able to see, but Giles could. The dogs settled down on the floor, apparently sated for once.

Dawn looked at all the food with big eyes. "Uh, maybe some toast?"

"Help yourself. Some of us know how to share." Ethan was asking for trouble, but at least it lightened the atmosphere.

"Good for you, m'boy," Ian declared heartily, clapping Ethan on the shoulder. "Never anything wrong with working on that moral fibre."

Ethan turned and winked at him, seeming more relaxed suddenly. "I just know I can steal any shortfall back from Rupert's plate." And he would too, Giles knew.

Putting aside thoughts about Dawn's disturbing dream, Giles concentrated on eating before his breakfast ended up joining Ethan's.


	11. Chapter 11

It was a very nice day, Ethan decided as he rode with Giles along the riverbank path. He was growing accustomed to riding now and had to admit he rather enjoyed it. The added height, the motion – there was something satisfying about it all.

Now that his muscles had adjusted, anyway.

Of course, it wasn't just a nice day because of fine, almost warm winter weather. It had started, after all, with an extremely long 'lay in', which euphemism actually meant a Valentine's Day breakfast in bed followed by bloody fantastic sex featuring many of their favourite toys. Ethan felt wonderfully well used, the hard saddle under him serving only to remind him of how good it had been.

He'd given Rupert his own small present – a new stash tin, hand painted to order by this new age traveller bloke he'd found in the village. The picture showed a pub sign, the 'Fox and Badger'. It wasn't much, being as they were stuck in rural nowhere-land away from decent shops and services, but Rupert had seemed really pleased and that, of course, had made Ethan even happier.

Then Rupert had done something he'd done before in their mutual past. He'd told Ethan to ask for one thing, anything, that he wanted. And that was what they were doing out here. Since Ethan had asked to be told something about Rupert that he didn't already know, and the answer, apparently, waited him at the end of this ride.

He looked over at Rupert, sitting tall on top of the black stallion he seemed to have claimed as his own, and smiled. That was his Rupert. His, and while Ethan might chose to share occasionally, Rupert would always be his. Never again would Ethan come second to someone or something else with this man.

Rupert glanced over at him with a smile. "What are you thinking about?" he asked.

"You," Ethan answered with a ironic smile. "What else would I be thinking about?"

"The possibilities are mind boggling. Actually even knowing you're thinking about me, the possibilities are still mind boggling."

"I'd better think up something interesting then so you're not disappointed." Ethan laughed and directed the ever-obliging Champ closer to Rupert's Shadow. Ethan didn't so much steer as pattern-tweak, but it worked well, and the horse didn't seem to mind.

"I doubt you could disappoint me," Rupert said easily, reaching out a hand to Ethan.

Ethan took it and squeezed through the two layers of leather gloves. "I was simply... appreciating you. Rupert, do you have something planned for tonight?"

Rupert shook his head. "Not as yet, no. I didn't know what you would pick for your present so didn't want to take a chance of interfering with it."

"Would you mind if I spent a little time with Megan? I think she might feel a little left out today. Ian's taking Dawn to see some film in High Wycombe to try to cheer her up, and everyone else is coupled up."

"Of course," Rupert answered immediately, smiling at Ethan again.

Good, that was that sorted. Ethan let go of Rupert's hand and trailed his own across Rupert's thigh. "Do you possess riding boots?" he asked casually. "You know, the high leg kind."

"I think I probably have a pair somewhere."

Ethan smirked and joked, "Maybe I want to change my request now."

Rupert chuckled. "Insatiable."

"Boots, riding crop, that lord of the manor look you can put on when dealing with imbeciles. Mmm..."

Rupert was steering them away from the river now and into an area of heath. "And to think," he teased, "you used to hate everything that even hinted at 'the lord of the manor.'"

"Maybe Matthew has converted me. Maybe I think Lyle and Scott the height of chic now." The two horses were nudging together as they walked, which trapped the men's legs between the saddles and was painful at times, but Ethan didn't care.

Rupert snorted. "Somehow I find that difficult to believe." He nudged his horse ahead of Ethan's, tossing back over his shoulder, "We have to go single file from here."

Ethan was about to object as he saw no reason for such a stricture, when Rupert turned his horse abruptly into the bank of trees they'd been walking along side. Ethan ducked under branches as Champ followed along behind. "Are you sure this path is meant for large animals?"

"I used to ride out here all the time," Rupert assured him. "It looks a tighter fit than it is."

The path led into a properly wooded area which showed signs that it had once been coppiced. They went quite deep, and then Rupert turned from the path to push through an overgrown area which made Ethan glad of the jeans he'd purchased in the village, for all that they were completely the wrong shade. He was glad of his Barbour coat as well as damp sprayed from the winter-dead branches they pushed aside, but then they entered a large clearing.

In the centre was a very old cottage in obvious disrepair. "Is this our destination?" Ethan asked quietly as he drew Champ back alongside Shadow.

Rupert nodded, suddenly seeming a bit shy, of all things. "It hasn't been used for several generations at least. I found it as a boy and..." He shrugged.

"Another den?" Ethan asked, curiosity sparked. "Bigger and better than the attic space?"

"A secret place. That no one knew but me. The attic, the nursery, they're in the house; if someone wanted to find me badly enough they could. But here..."

"I'm the only person you've ever brought here?"

Rupert nodded again. "There's been no one else it would have felt right to share this with."

"I love you so very much." Ethan reached out his hand to Rupert. "Show me; tell me. This is a brilliant Valentine's Day gift."

Rupert smiled that particular smile which made him look so much like the boy that he used to be. He squeezed Ethan's hand then dismounted. "Come on. Let's go inside."

They looped the horses' reins around a branch, western style, and then Rupert took Ethan's hand again, leading him to the door of the ramshackle building. The door stuck a bit as Rupert pushed it open, but moved with a sharp kick to its bottom edge.

Inside, it was dark, cold, and a little damp, but in much better nick than Ethan had been expecting. It was all one open room. The walls and ceiling were sound and the wooden floor, while covered in leaves and dust, seemed equally strong underfoot. There was an old rug by the fireplace, although not as old as the cottage would suggest, and Ethan wondered if Rupert had brought it here as a child. There were cushions too, the cloth presumably well rotted by now.

At one end of the room, there was a sink, but it had no taps. There had probably been a pump or a well close by at one point. Maybe there still was.

Everywhere Ethan looked, he saw small evidences that Rupert had used this place as his secret hideaway. Books, small toys, even what looked like a small stack of football bubblegum cards on the floor near the shuttered window. He jammed a knuckle of his free hand into his mouth, hit by yet another powerful surge of longing to have known his husband as a boy.

Rupert was looking around with a tiny smile. "It hasn't changed," he murmured. He turned to Ethan and reached for his hand, again seeming almost shy. "What do you think?"

"I think it's beautiful," Ethan replied immediately, meaning it. Because he could see beyond the dinginess and dust. He could see the room glowing warm with a fire dancing in the hearth, a small boy with blond hair and green eyes stretched out on the rug nose deep in a book. Or perhaps the same boy, a little older, curled up in a corner, ashamed by his own tears, but knowing he was safe here, and they'd never find him. "When was the last time you came here?"

"When I came home after... Eyghon," Rupert said softly, and Ethan could hear the ghosts in his voice. "I needed time alone to mourn, to bury that part of myself and accept the new –old– path my life was to take."

Ethan turned and pulled him close, soothing Rupert with gentle caresses and soft kisses. "It's hardly fair that that should be your most recent memory of this place. Can you light the fire? Let's make you some new memories."

Rupert kissed him then pulled away to go see to the fire. "I think that's part of why I brought you here," he said, as he piled wood in the fireplace. "To change the way I remember the place."

Ethan watched him for a while and then wandered around the small cottage. "What did this used to be? Do you know?"

"The gamekeeper's cottage." Rupert touched a finger to the pile of wood he'd carefully arranged and murmured " _Ignem concipe!_ " igniting it. The light inside immediately took on a warm orange glow as the flames grew. "Back in many generations past when there actually was a gamekeeper here."

There was an empty Cresta bottle by the sink. Cherryade flavour. Ethan chuckled, turning it in his hands. "Did you do magic here? Spells they maybe wouldn't have approved of?"

"Not really," Rupert said, sitting back and turning to look at Ethan. "My family being what it was, magic was actively encouraged. I didn't start doing spells they would have disapproved of until I went to London."

"And met me." Ethan couldn't help a smirk.

Rupert grinned at him. "Yes, it's funny how that works."

Ethan walked over to the fireplace, where a good blaze was already underway, and knelt with Rupert on the rug. He took Rupert's hands into his and smiled. "What a wicked man I must have been to lead someone like you astray."

"I willingly followed where you led," Rupert replied, thumbs caressing Ethan's hands.

Ethan looked at Rupert in fond silence for a few seconds then leant forward to kiss him. Rupert kissed him back, sliding a hand up into Ethan's hair.

"I've noticed something," Ethan commented as he pulled back. "For an only child living within a great deal of space, you had a lot of secret hideouts."

Rupert seemed to mull that over before answering. "I suppose I did," he said. "I never really thought about it."

"Were they very controlling? Trying to channel everything of you?" Ethan was looking for clues as to why, in such a large childhood home, having places that were his own had been so important to Rupert.

Rupert shook his head. "Not really. Oh, I was always expected to study and learn to the best of my abilities, but I liked learning so that wasn't something that felt forced on me. But..." he trailed off.

"But..." Ethan echoed. "But you had other needs?"

"There was always this... expectation, even before I was told I was to be a Watcher. This resignation and surrendering to fate, knowing it's going to bring grief. It always hung over my family; seemed to permeate the very walls."

"And so you yearned to escape before you even knew you had something to escape from." Ethan slipped into a sitting position and tugged Rupert closer.

He came willingly. "Sometimes I just needed to go somewhere I could breathe."

"You feel people's expectations so heavily, don't you, dearheart?" Ethan felt sad for his husband. "So infrequently have you allowed yourself to just be you."

"Duty and responsibility are a part of me," Rupert said with a small, bittersweet smile. "It's in my genes."

"But so am I," Ethan said thoughtfully. "In a way. I'd like to think I was the antidote to all that, although I suppose you've felt responsible to and for me often enough to disprove that theory." He sighed softly.

Rupert caressed his cheek. "And you haven't felt responsible to and for me as well?"

"I wouldn't call it that."

"No?"

Ethan shrugged. "Devoted, addicted, privileged, lucky – all more suitable words. You're not a burden, dear. You're something I never cease to be thankful for."

Rupert leant in and kissed him gently. When he pulled back, he asked, "What makes you think I view you any differently?"

"Maybe you don't now." Ethan smiled and tried to firmly push down contrary thoughts. Rupert was a catch, but Ethan... "I'd like to think you don't now."

"Ethan." Rupert slid a hand under his chin, forcing him to look back up. "I love you. I've loved you since we met. That's never changed, even when we were apart. You've always been important to me, and in the last year, you've become even more than that. You're essential."

He gave Rupert a twisted smile. "That's fated bonds for you."

"No. This isn't about some grand destiny we have no control over. This is about how necessary you..." Rupert shook his head. "No one's ever understood me the way you do. No one's _cared_ for me like you do. I've never felt like I had a person I could..."

Could what? Be himself with? Trust? Be free with? Be vulnerable with? Let nurture him? There were many ways Ethan could finish that sentence, and he realised to his surprise that all of them were good. He suddenly felt a lot better about his 'catch'-defining qualities. Looking solemnly into Rupert's eyes, he said, "I exist for you. And I'm not talking about grand destinies here either."

Rupert smiled and leant in for another kiss. "And now I have a better memory of being here than the last time."

"Good." Ethan shifted on the rug. "We should bring new cushions here. Or better still, a sofa."

"A sofa might be hard to sneak out of the house and transport through the undergrowth unnoticed." Rupert chuckled. He shifted position, leaning back against the remnants of the pillows that were already there and pulling Ethan into his arms to rest against his chest. "So you like this place?"

"Yes." Ethan nodded. "It feels safe, almost like a bubble outside of time. Somewhere to step away to."

Rupert nodded and tightened his arms around Ethan. "Consider it half yours then. Happy Valentine's Day."

Oh. Ethan squirmed around to be able to see Rupert's face. He opened his mouth to say something, but found his emotions too complicated to put into words. "Rupert..."

Rupert smiled and kissed him. "You're welcome," he breathed softly.

After the kiss, Ethan adjusted his position so that he could rest his head against Rupert's shoulder. He still had too many crowding emotions to speak, but the overriding feeling inside was happiness. He was happy. His fingers roamed lightly across Rupert's chest as he let himself be held.

"Did you ever have a secret place when you were young?" Rupert asked curiously after a while of companionable silence.

Ethan shook his head. "It was a three-bedroomed, terraced council house. It wasn't exactly pullulating with places to hide up in. When I needed to get away, I headed for the streets."

"So you were always the rover then?"

"I suppose so." Ethan nodded after a thought-filled pause. "It's certainly been hard to break the habit of turning tail when things get too much. Apart from anything else, knowing when to get clear of the house saved my skin more than once."

Rupert's arms tightened around him. "I wish I'd known you then."

Ethan chuckled softly. "You've no idea how often I've found myself thinking that about you recently."

"I may not have been able to physically stop you from getting hurt at home, but I could've helped you get away." Rupert sighed, and Ethan felt warm breath against his skin. "Shared with you a safe and secret place."

"That old mattress in the attic." Ethan laughed. "Hiding me up there would have worked... until they sent you away to school."

"I would've dug my heels in and finagled my way into not going, asked for home-tutoring to better complete my destiny."

Ethan stroked Rupert's arm. "You know why I like you looking after me, don't you? It's not that I need looking after or even that I want it exactly. What I like is feeling that I'm worth the effort." Sometimes even now he surprised himself with his honesty with Rupert.

Rupert nuzzled Ethan's neck. "You _are_ worth the effort," he said fiercely. "One day I'll get you to not doubt that."

"Sometimes I know it. More often now. You make me believe." He closed his eyes, soaking up Rupert's warmth around him. It was far more than just a physical heat. "If you could go back to any point in our lifetimes and change things, without disastrous consequences, what would you change?"

"Any time?" Rupert was quiet for a few moments, quite clearly thinking it over. "I'd go back to when you lost your Nan. Even if I couldn't get you away from... I'd be there. Make sure from the start that you always knew you weren't bad or worthless, no matter what they told you."

Ethan found a sudden and uncomfortable lump in his throat. "Bugger," he muttered, clenching his eyes more tightly shut.

Rupert just held him very close for a few long moments before asking, "What about you? What would you change if you could go back?"

So many possible moments, yet still the answer came instantly to Ethan's lips. "That day in the graveyard, at Randall's grave. That was you retreating to your hidey-hole, me running from the scene of the crime. Both of us were only doing what had always worked for us as kids. If I could go back, I'd make sure that wherever we went, we went together."

Rupert took a deep breath that was slightly shaky with emotion. "Yes," he finally murmured, his voice husky. "Together. At least we've finally got that part right now."

"I think we have most things right now," Ethan told him, moving a little so he could stroke Rupert's face.

"Indeed. You've learnt to run to me, and I've learnt to hide in you."

"Oh, very well put, dearheart." Ethan straightened up and took Rupert's face into his hands. "I have the cleverest of husbands," he said before starting a long kiss.

"I'm not lacking in that category myself," Rupert murmured with a smile when their lips parted. "I think we've both turned up lucky."

**Author's Note:**

> So very many thanks go to Wesleysgirl and mpoetess for staunch and reliable betaing throughout this massive project.


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